


Murder on the streets of Holby

by Squishmitten



Category: Holby City
Genre: Crime Drama, Dead Ed, F/F, Fuck Canon, Murder AU, Potato faced men, Slow Burn, Who on Earth dunnit?, but with next to no Holby, maybe a cliffhanger or two, think Silent Witness meets Scott and Bailey meets Holby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 57,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishmitten/pseuds/Squishmitten
Summary: Detective Chief Inspector Bernie Wolfe has a murder to investigate. For the first time in her career, she finds herself secretly hoping that her most obvious suspect isn’t guilty.Serena Campbell isn’t going to feign grief. She doesn’t care that the victim is dead, and she won’t pretend otherwise. Not even for the police.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again, lovelies. Strap yourselves in for yet another slow burn story!  
> Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.
> 
>  
> 
> *For the purposes of this fic, although it’s set in the present day, Bernie and Serena are both forty years old. Everyone else is around canon age*

Detective Chief Inspector Bernie Wolfe and Detective Sergeant Adrian ‘Fletch’ Fletcher pulled up, and parked on the quiet suburban street. They looked at the neat, detached house, set in a well tended and leafy plot.

“Nice gaff, don’t you think, Guv? I wouldn’t mind somewhere like this for me and the kids,” commented Fletch.

“On a DS’s salary? You’ll need to either get yourself a rich spouse, or start taking a lot of backhanders, Fletch. This place must have cost a fortune. I think you’ll be at Raf’s for a long while yet, if this is the sort of place you’re setting your sights on. I suppose we’d better get this over with. I hate doing the death knock. Doesn’t matter how many I’ve done, it never gets any easier.”

Bernie opened the glove box and removed a pocket sized pack of Kleenex. Looking again at the house they were about to enter, it didn’t look like the sort of residence to be without tissues, but she had been caught out before. Bernie always hated emotional scenes as it was, but added snot somehow made them feel ten times worse. 

They got out of the car, and Bernie squared her shoulders. She was dying for a cigarette. Bloody anti-smoking laws meant she couldn’t smoke in the car, and she couldn’t exactly puff away at the crime scene earlier. Fletch wouldn’t mind if she stopped to have one now, but it really wouldn’t do to break the news to the new widow, whilst stinking of Marlboros. Bernie settled for a squirt of the nicotine spray she kept in her jacket pocket. Tasted revolting, but she couldn’t deny that it did the job to reduce the craving. She had refused to even try vaping, not wanting to ‘walk around looking like a steam train’. 

“Come on Fletch, let’s get this done. We need to get back across town for the PM and you know what Naylor is like with latecomers.” 

Professor Jac Naylor was one of the best Home Office pathologists in the UK, but she didn’t tolerate lateness when performing a postmortem. She didn’t tolerate much in all honesty. There was a good reason people called her the Ice Queen. In hushed whispers, while out of earshot. She could be utterly _terrifying!_

They crossed the road and walked up the drive. Bernie removed her warrant card from her pocket, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, the door opened, and Bernie Wolfe was almost rocked back on her heels. The woman in the doorway was stunning. Surely this couldn’t be Edward Campbell’s wife? Even allowing for the fact he was dead, which did nothing for one’s looks, this woman was far too beautiful to have been married to someone as scrawny and potato-faced as the man she had seen earlier on.

Bernie realised the silence had gone on for a few beats too long.

“Ah, er... are you Ms Campbell, wife of Edward Campbell? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Berenice Wolfe and this is Detective Sergeant Adrian Fletcher. We’re with the Holby Metropolitan Police. May we come inside to talk to you, Ms Campbell?”

“What’s this about?”

Oh god, the voice was even sexier than the face! Velvety, with a hint of husky gravel. Bernie had a real weakness for a husky voiced woman. 

“We ah, we need to talk to you about your husband, Edward. I would really rather we did this inside. Please Ms Campbell?”

“What’s the idiot done now? Oh, I suppose you’d better come in.”

Serena Campbell blew out an annoyed breath, then stepped back to allow the two police officers inside. She directed them into a living room that managed somehow to be both immaculately tidy, whilst also being cosy and welcoming. Fletch opened his notebook, ready to record anything pertinent. 

“Ms Campbell, I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’m very sorry to tell you that a man we believe to be your husband was found dead this morning.”

Bernie never felt like she managed to inject any warmth or real sympathy into her voice when delivering this kind of news. She felt as though she sounded stilted and fake.

“Jesus, please tell me the arsehole didn’t take anyone with him?”

“I’m sorry?” Bernie was taken aback by Ms Campbell’s response.

“Well I’m assuming he’s managed to kill himself whilst drink driving. I don’t know _how_ many times I warned him about getting behind the wheel after a skinful. Selfish bastard,” Serena said, bitterly. 

“It was nothing like that, Ms Campbell. This morning, at approximately 6.00am, a body was found on Shelby Road, in East Holby. Although the person’s wallet and identification had apparently been stolen, car keys were found on the deceased which unlocked a nearby car. That car is registered to your husband, Edward Campbell.”

“For starters, please call me Serena. It’s bad enough that I have to carry on using his name in my professional life. I’m sick of the bloody sound of it. So what are you telling me? What happened?” Serena sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.

“Obviously our investigations are at a very early stage, but it looks as though Edward may have been killed during a mugging. I realise this is a huge shock and is very upsetting. Would you like my Sergeant to make you a cup of tea?” Bernie fought to keep the surprise out of her voice at the lack of reaction from the newly widowed Serena Campbell. 

“This is the point where your sergeant goes snooping, under the guise of tea-making, isn’t it? Coffee, strong, black, two sugars. Edward’s so-called office is the first door on the left, just to make things easier for you. I think the desk contains mostly porn, but knock yourself out.” 

Serena stared defiantly at Fletch, who looked, with uncertainty, towards Bernie. She gave him a small nod, and he left the room, relieved to be away from the awkward atmosphere for a few minutes. At this stage, they wouldn’t normally go poking around the home of a mugging victim during the death knock, but as the invitation had been given, a minute or two in Edward Campbell’s office couldn’t hurt. 

“If you don’t mind me saying, Ms… Serena, I mean. If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem very upset by your husband’s death.” Bernie tried to be diplomatic, in case this was merely delayed shock. 

“Well I’m not going to sit here and fake it. I did enough of that during my marriage. Edward and I were separated. I threw him out a month ago, and had instructed my solicitor to begin divorce proceedings. Maybe I should be shaking this mugger by the hand. It seems they will save me a lot of time and effort. I’m actually slightly surprised he tried to fight off a mugger. The man was always a terrible coward. He could be a bolshy drunk though, so he was probably pissed,” Serena gave a derisory snort. “What am I saying, of _course_ he was pissed.”

 

Meanwhile, Fletch had set out a mug, spooned in a generous amount of coffee and put the kettle on to boil. He then quietly made his way to the room Serena Campbell had indicated was Edward’s office. There was no need to make it obvious he had taken her up on the invitation to snoop. There wasn’t much in the room - a desk with a comfortable looking leather chair behind it. A bookshelf with a few medical textbooks haphazardly stacked here and there. There was nothing on the desk other than a monitor and mouse, with the tower on the floor beside it.

Out of habit, Fletch snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves before he pulled out the chair and sat down. It would be worth having a very quick look through the desk drawers at least. He opened the left hand drawer. Well, Mrs Campbell hadn’t been wrong. 

“Who actually buys porn magazines any more? Doesn’t he realise you can get it for free on the internet?” Fletch muttered to himself. 

He had a quick look at some of the titles, to check there was nothing too dodgy. Other than an apparent taste for pornography featuring ‘barely legal teens’, there didn't seem to be anything which would obviously trouble the vice squad amongst the stack of magazines. The other drawer yielded more of the same, alongside a box of tissues and some baby oil. Fletch grimaced. He was suddenly very pleased that he’d worn gloves. 

Deciding he had taken long enough, he slid the drawer shut, stood, replaced the chair in its original position and pulled off his gloves. Fletch left the room, closed the door quietly behind him, and returned to the kitchen to pour hot water into the mug and stir in a couple of sugars. He knew the boss was going to be in a rush to get over to the mortuary, to attend the postmortem, and wouldn't want to be delayed by coffee. Professor Naylor’s tongue was sharp enough at the best of times, but particularly so with anyone who dared walk in late and disturb her. 

 

Bernie looked up as Fletch entered the room and carefully set the mug on a coaster in front of Serena. She noticed him quail slightly in the face of Serena Campbell’s laser beam glare, and hid a smile. 

“So you didn’t know where your husband had been living for the last month?” she asked.

“No, and I didn’t care. I assumed he had probably shacked up with some woman or other. My solicitor might know where he was staying, assuming she was doing whatever it is solicitors do to move divorce proceedings forward. I gave her his email address and mobile number, and left the rest to her.” Serena reached for her iPhone, tapped the screen a couple of times then held it out to Bernie. “Carson and Partners. Here’s the number. I was dealing directly with Kathryn Carson.”

Bernie held the phone out, so Fletch could see the number to note down, before handing it back. Her fingers brushed Serena’s as the mobile passed between them, and Bernie barely suppressed a gasp. What the hell was wrong with her? No matter what the state of the marriage, this woman was newly widowed, and it was wildly inappropriate to be harbouring lustful thoughts towards her. 

“As I said, Serena, we will need you to formally identify the deceased. I’ll send a car over to collect you this afternoon, if that’s okay?”

“I would drive myself, but I know parking is a bloody nightmare over there. Very well, but I expect a call first, please. I’m not just going to sit about here all day waiting,” Serena replied, sharply.

Bernie stood up, and Fletch followed her lead.

“Of course. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to assign you a family liaison officer?” checked Bernie.

“Quite sure, thank you. I’m not some snivelling, heartbroken specimen who needs her hand holding.” Serena snapped.

They walked down the hall towards the front door, and Bernie couldn’t quite stop her eyes drifting downwards, taking in the flare of Serena’s hips and her shapely bum.

“You have my card if you have any questions, Serena, and I will see you again this afternoon,” Bernie put her hand out, automatically to shake the other woman’s. There was a definite tingle of electricity as their hands touched, and Bernie swallowed hard. “Once again, you have my deepest sympathy for your loss.”

Serena pulled her hand from Bernie’s clasp with an angry sounding ‘huh!’. She threw Bernie a narrow-eyed look, before turning away and closing the front door in their faces.


	2. Chapter 2

As Bernie and Fletch walked back down Serena Campbell's drive, Bernie took a quick look at her watch. Yes, they had time to spare. After crossing the road, instead of getting straight into the unmarked Audi, she leaned against it and fished her cigarettes out of her pocket. Fletch was always amazed at how much stuff she managed to fit in her pockets, just because she hated to carry a handbag. 

“First impressions?” asked Bernie, blowing out her first lungful of smoke with a contented sigh. 

“I thought you were giving up the fags, Boss?” 

“Yes okay, Sergeant. I've cut right down, and I use that foul spray stuff. I will give up eventually,” she resisted the urge to childishly poke her tongue out at Fletch.

He was such a mother hen, always taking care of her in little ways. Reminding her to eat, nagging about smoking or when he thought she was going too heavy on the booze. Sometimes she thought he almost saw her as another one of his kids! It was comforting though, to know someone always had her back. 

“First impressions. Well from what I saw of her, she doesn't seem to give a shit that her husband has just been killed. Could be delayed shock, I suppose. We've both seen that before. She could be in there now, sobbing her heart out, I suppose,” Fletch shrugged. 

They both automatically glanced across at the house they had just left, as if they were going to see the Widow Campbell draped on her porch, prostrate with grief. What they actually saw was Serena Campbell, standing in the bay window of her living room. Arms folded, staring across the road at them. Bernie felt as though she could almost physically feel the icy disapproval being directed their way. 

“Oh, whoops. Why do I feel like I've just been caught smoking behind the bike sheds? We'd better get going.” 

Bernie took one last drag of the cigarette, before crushing it out beneath her boot. She slowly blew the smoke out, savouring it. Intellectually, she knew she really needed to give up, but damn, she enjoyed smoking! She looked over again at the house and gave an ironic little salute, before opening the passenger door and getting into the car. 

“I take it you did have a quick shufty in the office, in the midst of the coffee making, Fletch?” Bernie asked, as the car pulled away from the kerb.

“Yes, of course I did, Guv. It seemed rude not to after Mrs Campbell gave permission and all. There was a desktop PC that we might eventually want to ask to take a proper look at, just in case this wasn’t a random attack. She wasn’t wrong about the porn either. It seems that Edward’s taste in pornography leant toward the much younger model. As far as I could see it was all legal, but I didn’t dig too deep. I didn’t go prising apart any stuck together pages, or anything,” Fletch gave a sly grin.

As they were stopped at a red light, Bernie took the opportunity to give her sergeant a light, playful punch on the arm.

“Ugh, Adrian Fletcher! Did you have to? I don’t need that kind of mental image on four hours sleep and an empty stomach, thank you very much. I’ll pair you up with Medcalf if you’re not careful, and maybe take DC Burrows on as my right hand woman instead. She could use the experience.”

“Medcalf probably owns most of the same dirty magazines as Campbell did. He strikes me as that type, somehow. As for Jasmine? She would drive you mental in about five minutes flat, and you know it, Guv. That unruly puppy thing she has going on? I know you wouldn’t be able to tolerate that, one on one.”

Bernie sighed and nodded. He wasn’t wrong. Detective Constable Jasmine Burrows was very bright and had the potential to be a really good copper. She was just way too bouncy and over enthusiastic. To run with Fletch’s unruly puppy image, you wouldn’t be too surprised if she occasionally left a little puddle of wee on the floor when she got over excited! Bernie also couldn’t really disagree with his opinion on DS Robbie Medcalf either. There was something about him that ever so slightly creeped her out. He was the one member of her team that she would happily get rid of, if she ever had the opportunity. 

“What did you think about Mrs Campbell then, Guv? Did she have much to say when I was out of the room?”

“Not a great deal, actually. Just that she had booted him out of the house, started divorce proceedings and knew nothing about his whereabouts, his recent movements or his death. Apparently, he was a locum anaesthetist. It's a bit worrying that, given she also said he’s a pisshead. I wouldn’t fancy someone monitoring my anaesthetic levels with a raging hangover from a bender the night before. Serena’s a surgeon over at Holby City. Might help explain how she’s so cool and calm, I suppose.” Bernie pondered.

“I suppose so. They probably get used to keeping their emotions under control in the operating theatre. Maybe it can become a force of habit?”

“Maybe,” Bernie agreed, absently. 

They fell silent for a few minutes, Fletch concentrating on negotiating the late morning traffic, and Bernie deep in thought. 

 

“There’s something that's been bothering me about the crime scene, Fletch. Campbell’s car was right there, parked up next to the body. Why didn’t the mugger take it? That’s an expensive car he owned, yet they left it and only lifted his wallet and watch. He was clearly either just about to get in the car or had just got out.” Bernie took out her nicotine spray, had a squirt and grimaced.

“It was almost certainly a spur of the moment, opportunistic robbery, boss. It obviously wasn’t a carjacking. Maybe the mugger can’t drive?”

“You know as well as I do, that a set of keys and the location of the vehicle are worth good money. Why walk away from easy money?”

“Realised what he’d done, panicked and did a runner without checking properly through Campbell’s pockets? Or maybe it was just some smackhead who either just didn’t think about the car, or who doesn’t have the contacts to shift a stolen car.”

“Possibly,” but Bernie was unconvinced. Surely anyone desperate to stab someone to death during a mugging wouldn’t just walk away from tens of thousands of pounds worth of car?

 

Fletch flicked on the indicator to turn off the main road.

“Where are you going? We’re on our way to attend the postmortem, remember? asked Bernie, confused.

“We have over half an hour to spare, Guv. There’s plenty of time for a bacon sarnie and a coffee at The Spoon. You said it yourself, you’re operating on little sleep and an empty stomach. Plus, it’s your turn to buy,” he replied, with a grin.

Mother Hen Fletcher strikes again, thought Bernie, with a small smile. As if the thought of food had woken it up, her stomach suddenly gave a loud growl. Bernie and Fletch looked at each other, and burst out laughing. 

“The Spoon it is. If we’re even a _second_ late to the PM, mind you, I’m feeding you to Jac Naylor.”

The Spoon was the eating place of choice amongst many of the folk who worked at Holby Central police station. No one knew what the actual name of the cafe was, the signage merely said ‘Cafe’ but it was always referred to as The Spoon, short for Greasy Spoon. It opened early, closed late, offered a 10% Police discount, and very importantly, did a mean bacon sandwich. 

**

Bernie and Fletch walked into the mortuary observation room with a few minutes to spare. They both felt better for having had something to eat, as well as the caffeine boost. Some people found autopsies difficult to get through. They had both seen the most hardened coppers turn green at the first sign of the Y incision being made. Both Bernie and Fletch were made of sterner stuff, and found the whole process fascinating. In another life, maybe they could have been medics themselves...

 

“What do you reckon a Home Office pathologist earns, Guv?” Fletch asked quietly, as they watched Professor Naylor walking around the body of Edward Campbell. He was clearly thinking back to the conversation earlier about the cost of the attractive house their victim had once lived in.

“I don’t think so, Fletch. She’s way out of your league for starters. Not to _mention_ Petrenko,” snorted Bernie.

“Frieda Petrenko? From forensics? What about her? No! The Ice Queen and the Goth Princess? Really?” His mouth was hanging open in shock.

“Yes Sergeant. I think you should just stick to your friends with benefits arrangement with Inspector Di Lucca, don’t you? Don’t look at me like that, Fletcher, I’m a bloody good detective, remember?”

“Y..you don’t…” Fletch began, hesitantly.

“Adrian, what you do in the privacy of you own home is your own business. Raf isn’t your direct superior and besides, you’re not even working on the same team. There’s no conflict of interest that I can see.” Bernie gave Fletch a friendly shoulder bump.

“I hate it when you call me Adrian,” he complained.

“Yes I know, Adrian. Now shut up and let’s concentrate. Professor Naylor is about to begin.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bernie and Fletch fell silent as Professor Jac Naylor, Home Office forensic pathologist, began her initial examination of the body laying on the stainless steel dissection table. They looked on as scrapings from under the fingernails were taken, his hair was combed through and clothing closely examined, looking for any possible transfer from the attacker. It was only after that was completed, that Edward Campbell's body was stripped and his clothes taken away for further analysis. The post-mortem then began in earnest. 

“The body is that of a somewhat undernourished adult Caucasian male. The stated age is 43, however I would say the appearance is of someone several years older. The skin has a yellowish tinge, as do the sclera. That’s the whites of the eyes, Chief Inspector. There is oedema - swelling, of the legs and feet. The palms of his hands are red and his stomach appears bloated. All these are classic symptoms of liver disease.”

“We have been told by his wife that he drank to excess, Professor, ” Bernie informed the pathologist. 

“Obviously I’ll be able to tell more once I open him up, but I anticipate quite advanced cirrhosis of the liver. I suspect your victim was probably a chronic alcoholic. There is also a smell of alcohol in the mouth. It will be interesting to see what the blood alcohol level is when we get the results back,” replied Jac, looking up at the observation area. 

“He was an anaesthetist, how on earth did he get away with being an alcoholic with a job like that?” asked a shocked DCI Wolfe. 

“You might be surprised just how many medical professionals are drunks, Wolfe. Surprised, and not a little terrified when you go for your next check up.” 

Naylor turned back to the body on the stainless steel table.

“There is some superficial bruising on the body. However, if he does have the advanced liver disease I am anticipating, they could be a further symptom of that. There is an abrasion on his left wrist, that appears to have happened around the time of death. There's very little bruising or bleeding. I would say it is consistent with his wrist watch being forcibly removed. The only obvious wound on the body is a puncture to the left chest. This is a small entry wound. If it is the cause of death, I would hazard a guess that you’re looking at a very sharp, thin bladed weapon.”

“Like a scalpel, perhaps?”

The professor shot a sharp look at Bernie.

“I couldn’t possibly say at this stage, Wolfe,” she replied, before carrying on with her external examination. 

“You said he was married?”

“Well, she had apparently kicked him out about a month ago, but yes. She’s one of your gang too, a surgeon of some kind over at Holby City. Why do you ask?” queried the detective. 

“Looking at the genitalia, I would say that Mr Campbell here has a raging STI. You might want to suggest the wife has herself tested.” The distaste in Jac Naylor’s voice was obvious. 

“Good luck telling Serena Campbell that little bit of news, boss,” murmured Fletch. 

“Christ. That’s going to be a fun conversation. Sometimes I really hate my job.”

They both fell silent as Naylor began the Y incision that was the beginning of the postmortem proper. Bernie and Fletch looked on as organs were removed, examined and weighed. Samples were taken and preserved for testing. Jac Naylor’s expectation of cirrhosis was proven to be correct. 

“It looks like he was already well on his way to drinking himself into an early grave, Wolfe. Picture the state of this liver the next time you're hitting the bottle hard,” stated Jac, cooly. 

Bernie mentally crossed anything alcoholic off her shopping list for the next couple of weeks. 

“Stomach contents smell strongly of alcohol, and it doesn’t appear he’s had any solid food for at least six to eight hours before death.”

“And do you have a time of death for me, Professor?” Bernie asked.

Jac looked up at Bernie and rolled her eyes. The perennial question asked by the senior investigating officer of every suspicious death. They always hoped for miracles in pinpointing time of death. 

“Somewhere between 10 and midnight last night, with all the usual caveats. He was outside overnight, so it is hard to say with much more accuracy.”

***

“Okay you horrible lot, quiet please,” Bernie called out, over the chatter of her assembled team. 

They fell silent, and turned their attention to Bernie, who was sitting at the head of the table. 

“I have the preliminary findings from the postmortem. Death occurred between about 10 and 12 last night. Our cause of death is a single penetrating wound to the heart by a thin, single edged and very sharp blade. No defence wounds and no sign the body was moved after death. We're lucky that it was a dry night, so whatever trace there is won't have been washed away. We're waiting for our forensic report to come from Ms Petrenko.”

“That bloody weirdo. Huh.” muttered Robbie Medcalf. 

Bernie glared at DS Medcalf. 

“That's enough of that, Sergeant. Frieda Petrenko happens to be the best forensic scientist I've ever worked with,” Bernie growled. As usual, Medcalf had managed to antagonise her with just a couple of words. She took a deep breath, and resumed the briefing. 

“Edward Campbell, 43. Locum anaesthetist. And according to Professor Naylor, a chronic alcoholic. I hope none of you will be needing an operation any time soon, because I have a feeling this will put the wind right up you. After this, I'm thankful it was the RAMC who had me under the knife, I can tell you!” She never really talked about what had caused her to leave the Royal Military Police, but it was common knowledge that it was due to something medical. 

“We’ve got on to the widow’s solicitor, and managed to get the address where Edward Campbell has been staying, Guv. It’s a place on Shelby Close, belonging to one David Brown. It’s just around the corner from Shelby Road, which fits in with where his car was parked,” piped up Mo. 

“We still don’t know for sure if he was coming or going yet. Probably coming home after a night out on the piss, if he was killed between 10 and midnight, but there is always a chance he was on his way out somewhere. Okay Mo, you go and have a chat with David Brown. You might well have to break the news to him about Campbell’s death, so tread carefully. Find out what you can about recent movements, associates, you know the routine. The wife, Serena Campbell, didn't say why she threw our victim out and was divorcing him, so see what he knows about that, too. Take Nicky with you. It’ll be good experience for her.”

Nicky McKendrick would become an excellent detective once she gained more experience and confidence. Partnering her with DS Mo Effanga would hopefully help give her that. Mo was a great mentor, who Bernie hoped would help with the development of both Nicky and Jasmine.

“Robbie, I want you going though any CCTV in the vicinity. It’s quite a residential area, so you might need to be creative if there aren’t many traffic cams and so on. Talk to local businesses, maybe have a walk around the area, see if any local residences close by have security cameras.”

“Ugh, but Guv-”

“No. No ‘but Guvs’, Sergeant. CCTV. Get on it.”

Bernie could never quite put her finger on what it was about Robbie Medcalf that rubbed her up the wrong way quite so badly. His manner and general lack of respect didn’t sit well with her at all. There was also just something a little sleazy about him. The way his eyes lingered a bit too long on women, maybe. Whatever it was, she was always loathe to pair him up with Nicky or Jasmine. 

“Fletch, you and Jasmine can go and get involved with the house to house. See what uniform have come up with so far. While you’re there actually, keep your eyes open for any domestic security cameras and feed the info back to Robbie. I’m going to head back across town and pick up Serena Campbell to make the formal identification. She’s a bit prickly, so I don’t want to risk sending any of you lot for her. Evening briefing back here at 6 o'clock please.”

There was a collective groan. 

“Yes, yes I know, it's already been a long day. Just think of the overtime at the end of the month. I tell you what, I'll stand the first couple of rounds in the pub afterwards, how's that? Although, having seen the state of Edward Campbell's liver this afternoon, personally, I think I'll be on the orange juice!”

Before they all left for the tasks assigned to them, Fletch pulled Bernie to one side. 

“Are you going to tell the wife what Professor Naylor found, Boss? About the… the you know what?” he asked. 

“The ‘you know what’? Really Sergeant Fletcher? Are you suddenly a prudish old woman, or something? It's an STI. Or if you prefer, VD, the clap or a dose. ‘You know what’ indeed,” she teased. 

“Come on Guv, give me a break. I didn't want to be crude.” 

“Fletch, I was in the RMP for 12 years. In the early days of my career, I very quickly lost count of how many times I was called to domestic disturbances at base housing. All because a squaddie had come home from a posting, with ‘you know what’, and passed it on to an unsuspecting wife. A lot of wives didn't take that news quietly. I think I've probably heard every single nickname under the sun for all the various STIs. All that said, I'm really not looking forward to telling Ms Campbell that little piece of news,” sighed the DCI. 

Fletch shuffled his feet and shrugged. 

“You don't actually _have_ to tell her, I suppose. It's not technically your job to pass it on.”

“No, but morally I need to let her know. Wouldn't you want to be told that there might be something nasty lurking in your boxers?” Bernie raised an eyebrow at her DS. 

Fletch automatically clasped a protective hand over his crotch, and nodded. 

“Good luck, Guv. Rather you than me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bernie leant against the car, fortifying herself with a cigarette for the drive across Holby to Serena’s leafy suburb. Her mind drifted back to the postmortem, and the state of Edward Campbell’s liver. It made her think of the pictures of diseased organs on the cigarette packaging, and the fag in her hand suddenly felt like less of a pleasure and more of a serious contribution to an early grave. Maybe Fletch’s nagging was also finally having an effect, she mused. She crushed out the half smoked cigarette and silently promised herself that she wouldn’t buy another pack. 

The reality was, she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Serena Campbell again, and was basically procrastinating. As blasé as she had been in front of Fletch about dealing with the fallout from an STI diagnosis, the thought of breaking that kind of news to Serena was not pleasant. The combination of that and her instant, almost overwhelming attraction to the beautiful surgeon, was making her almost regret not sending one of the junior members of her team to fetch Serena. But no, she had never been one to shy away from her responsibilities. 

Bernie slid into the Audi and started the engine. She could do this. They didn’t call her the big macho army copper for nothing! Either way, she had something of a temporary stay of execution, as she couldn’t exactly share that kind of information before Campbell’s remains were officially identified. She snorted with horrified amusement at the thought. Imagine telling a new widow, grieving or otherwise, that her dead husband was almost certainly riddled with sexually transmitted diseases, only to find out it wasn’t her husband at all? Bernie could only imagine the amount of paperwork that the fallout from something like that would create. 

After entering the appropriate postcode into the satnav, Bernie pulled out her phone. She had never been a particular fan of using a satnav, but even after several years of living in Holby, she still wasn’t entirely used to the notorious one way system of her adopted city. It showed her that the estimated journey duration was thirty five minutes. Bernie checked her notebook, and tapped in a phone number.

“Hello, Ms Campbell? It’s DCI Bernie Wolfe. I should be with you within about forty minutes to take you to the mortuary, if that’s convenient?”

“Nothing about any of this is _convenient_ , Chief Inspector, believe me. I’ll see you in forty minutes,” and with that, Serena hung up.

“Prickly. Definitely prickly.”

Bernie put her phone away and pulled out of the car park, into the early afternoon traffic. She began trying to mentally rehearse exactly how she was going to pass on Jac Naylor’s STI news. 

“Serena Campbell is a surgeon. She must have dealt with all kinds of unpleasant diseases during her career. Maybe she'll just take it in her stride,” Bernie muttered. 

“Oh, who the hell am I'm I trying to kid? Dealing with the illnesses of strangers is one thing, being told you might have a dose of the clap is something else altogether!” 

Bernie switched on the radio, hoping the combination of the lovely one way mazes of the city, and the easy listening tunes of Holby FM would distract her. She would deal with how to break the news when the time came. If she was really lucky, Professor Naylor might be around when they got back to the mortuary. She would undoubtedly inform Serena in her usual blunt and direct fashion. No, there's no way I could be that fortunate, Bernie thought.

**

The ETA had been remarkably accurate, and Bernie pulled up outside Serena's house exactly thirty five minutes after she had been hung up upon. She got out of the car, ready to walk up the drive and announce her arrival, only to see the front door open, and Serena emerge. 

“She seems eager,” Bernie said to herself, before walking around the car to open the passenger door. 

“Good afternoon, Ms Campbell,” she said, courteously. 

“There's very little good about it, believe me. Didn't I already ask you to stop calling me ‘Ms Campbell’?” Serena snapped, as she slid into the passenger seat. 

Oh good, she had a whole afternoon of this ahead of her. Suddenly the thought of giving up cigarettes didn’t seem to be such a good idea. Bernie took a deep, calming breath before getting back in the car.

They sat in silence for a while, as Bernie negotiated their way through the increasingly heavy traffic. Somehow it seemed unlikely that Serena would enjoy listening to the inane chatter and middle of the road pop that Holby FM had to offer. Bernie became aware that Serena's perfume seemed to fill the car. The spicy, musky fragrance was lovely, and did nothing to ease the attraction Bernie felt towards Serena. It also made Bernie very self conscious of her own personal hygiene. She had been dragged out of bed by the call to the suspicious death, and other than putting on clean clothes, had only taken the time to spray on a bit of deodorant and wash her face. She hadn't even paused to tug a brush through her hair. She felt a bit like a scarecrow in the presence of the neat, well put together Serena Campbell.

Finally, the silence was broken.

“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, I know you were only trying to be polite,” Serena said, with a deep, weary sounding sigh. “It’s just that for the last few weeks, the name Campbell has felt like massive millstone around my neck.”

Bernie quickly glanced at the other woman. This was the first time Serena had sounded anything other than supremely pissed off. 

“I can only imagine how stressful the break up of a marriage must be,” Bernie tentatively replied.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of the lucky ones who has a happy marriage? You’re a statistical anomaly Ms… Ugh, I know you’ve told me your name several times, but I’ve forgotten it again. I spend too much of my life around people either wearing ID badges or who are in beds with their names on. I think it's made me lazy.”

“It’s Bernie. Bernie Wolfe. And I’ve never been married, apart from to the job that is. Can’t you go back to using your maiden name, if you hate Campbell so much?”

“I have thought about it, believe me. The trouble is, all my professional achievements are in my married name. As is everything I’ve published, and every article that’s been written about me. It all means it’s just simpler to stick with Campbell. I should have kept my maiden name in the first place, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.”

“I suppose the closest I’ve come to changing my name was getting used to swapping from military rank to police. It took me a while to stop introducing myself as Major Wolfe after joining Holby Metropolitan Police.”

“When I left med school and was finally Doctor Campbell, it was one of the proudest days of my life. Yet once I qualified as a surgeon and went from Doctor back to Ms, I couldn’t wait to drop it again.”

Silence fell once again in the car, but at least this time it was a less tense silence. 

**

Bernie stood beside Serena as the sheet was pulled back, and she unemotionally confirmed that it was indeed Edward Campbell laying there. Serena agreed to sit and talk to Bernie, and was lead to a comfortable relatives room, before Bernie went off in search of coffee.

“Here we go, black, with two sugars,” Bernie said, as she returned and placed a mug in front of Serena. “I took my life in my hands and as the coast was clear, I raided Professor Naylor’s personal stash of coffee pods. I thought you probably drink as much bad coffee at work as I do, and decided we deserve a decent cup.”

Bernie sat opposite Serena and took a sip from her own mug. Jac Naylor really did buy good coffee. 

“I’m afraid it will be a while until you can begin the funeral arrangements, Serena. While the investigation is still ongoing, his remains will have to stay here,” Bernie said, gently.

“Funeral arrangements? I have no intention of arranging anything. He can go to hell!” Serena laughed bitterly. “I just wish I did actually _believe_ in the concept. I quite like the idea of him roasting in a fiery pit for all eternity. No, Chief Inspector, someone will to have to track down a member of his wastrel family to take care of that sort of thing.”

Silence fell between them again, as they drank their coffee. Bernie took a deep breath. She couldn’t keep putting this off. It was time.

“Serena, there’s something that Professor Naylor suggested I should discuss with you, something that came up during the postmortem. Now it isn’t absolutely certain, because it just came from her visual inspection of Edward’s… of..of Edward, but she seemed quite sure that he had a significant and advanced STI.”

“I know.”

“Now, I realise this might… Wait, what?” Bernie was taken aback.

“Well, I know he almost certainly at least had chlamydia at some point before the 5th of last month,” Serena sighed heavily. “Look, Chief Inspector, as much as I would rather not discuss this, I know you’re going to be digging around, asking questions.”

Bernie placed her mug on the table and clasped her hands together.

“I’m afraid that’s very true. We will be looking into all aspects of his life, and by extension, yours,” she said, as gently as she could.

“Needless to say, I didn’t exactly go shouting this from the rooftops, but I know you will be asking questions regarding the reason I threw Edward out of the house. I was having some… some routine tests. During the course of these, it was revealed that I had chlamydia. Knowing that Edward had been my only sexual partner for nearly eighteen years, it was clear that he had been unfaithful. Not only unfaithful, but extremely careless. I went home, and I packed his bags, which I dumped on the drive. I then called a locksmith and called Kathryn Carson, the solicitor.” Serena ground to a halt, and took a large mouthful of coffee.

“I can only imagine you were very angry, Serena,” Bernie said, carefully. She was glad she had got Serena to agree to her recording the discussion using Nicky’s new-fangled app. 

“Angry? If he had actually come home at that point, I think I would have fucking castrated him. I’m a surgeon, Ms Wolfe. If he had given me something like HIV or hepatitis, that would mean my career could potentially be affected. He didn’t even realise I had thrown him out, in fact, until the early hours of the 6th, when he finally came staggering home and couldn’t get his key to work. I’m sure the neighbours will tell you all about that. The curtains were twitching up a storm. As it stands so far, I have tested negative for HIV and hepatitis, but obviously, I need to have regular testing, just in case. Look, I’ve had more than enough for one day. I would like to go home.” 

Sure enough, the fight had clearly gone out of Serena, and she seemed to have somehow shrunk from the feisty, angry woman who had first greeted Bernie and Fletch, into someone far more delicate and vulnerable. Bernie glanced at her watch, there was just about enough time to take Serena across town,and get back to the station in time for the briefing.

“Of course, Serena. Let’s get you home.” 

Bernie sighed, inwardly. Dammit, if only she didn’t find delicate and vulnerable Serena equally as attractive as feisty, angry Serena!


	5. Chapter 5

As they drove back through the city, Serena looked exhausted, and a little defeated, slumped in the passenger seat, head leaning against the window. Bernie cleared her throat.

“Um, we need to arrange a time, when it’s convenient for me to ask you some more questions, I’m afraid,” she said, gently.

“Of course. I’m the spouse, so I’m obviously the number one suspect. I’m working tomorrow from eight o’clock until five. Well I say five o’clock, it’s more like ‘until it’s possible to leave’. I imagine it’s similar for you,” Serena replied.

“Very much so. I work as many hours as the job dictates. Today it began this morning, with a phone call at about 6.30am and will end once I finish with my team briefing. With a..a suspicious death, the days do tend to be longer, particularly in the beginning. You’re planning on going to work tomorrow? Surely they’ll allow you some time?” Bernie was surprised.

“I told you before Chief Inspector, I don’t plan on playing the grieving widow. Thanks to the ever efficient rumour mill, it seems to have become common knowledge around the hospital that my marriage is over. I see no reason to pretend. The NHS is stretched enough, without me adding to it by taking unnecessary time off.”

“I see. Would you be willing to see me once you’re finished for the day? It doesn’t need to be at the station or anything.”

Serena sighed, and nodded. 

“I’ll call you when I’m leaving the hospital. I genuinely don’t think there will be anything I can tell you that will help you find Edward’s killer, but if there’s anything I can do to help, I will. Was Kathryn Carson able to tell you where he had been staying?” 

“Yes, he was staying with David Brown. Does the name mean anything to you?” asked Bernie.

“Dave Brown? He’s back in Holby, is he? I thought he still lived in London. He always used to be a big drinking buddy of Edward’s. We went out to dinner a few times as a foursome, with some girl Dave was seeing for a while. I think Edward began to keep us apart in case Dave spilled the beans about their wilder nights out. It was a shame really, because Dave was about the only friend of Edward’s that I ever actually liked.” 

Serena fell silent again and gazed out at the passing traffic. 

“I suppose Edward’s name will be released to the press, now I’ve officially identified him for you?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes, the press office will have updated the details to include his identity. I imagine the story will be on the news this evening. On the regional news, at the very least..” Bernie quickly glanced at Serena, trying to gauge her mood.

“Maybe I will take a couple of days off, to let the worst of the fuss die down. I could do without all the morbid curiosity disguised as sympathy. Come over whenever you want tomorrow, to ask your questions. Make sure-”

“That I call first? Of course,” interrupted Bernie.

“Hmmm.” was Serena’s only response, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.

They pulled up in front of the house and Bernie noticed Serena frown.

“Would you like me to come inside and check the house over for you? Changed locks or not, this kind of thing is very unsettling. Ah, someone has left you flowers, that’s nice.” Bernie had followed Serena’s gaze to the front porch, where a rather gaudy looking bouquet was propped against the front door.

“What? No, I’m fine,” she replied, absently. “I’ll see you tomorrow Ms Wolfe.”

With that, Serena got out of the car and slowly walked up the drive. Bernie watched, as she picked up the flowers and poked about amongst the blooms, presumably looking for a card from the sender. Even Bernie’s limited lip reading skills could see Serena was swearing, as she proceeded to march towards her wheelie bins, lift a lid and forcefully throw in the bouquet. Shaking her head, she walked back to the front door and let herself inside.

“Interesting. I’m not a big fan of flowers, but even I wouldn’t bin an obviously expensive bunch like that,” murmured Bernie. 

She looked at the clock on the dashboard. She should get back to Holby Central in good time for the briefing. At least during the evening rush hour, more of the traffic would be heading out of the city, so it shouldn’t take too long. The rate she was going with the trips back and forth to Serena’s home, she soon wouldn’t need the satnav, even with the devilish Holby one way system!

***

Bernie sat, another mug of coffee in hand, looking through various reports, waiting for everyone to gather and settle down. The transcript of Mo and Nikki’s meeting with Dave Brown made for some very interesting reading:

**Interview with David Brown**

_“I haven’t seen Serena in a few years. She doesn’t approve of me, thought I was a bad influence on Ed. Like Ed ever needed an excuse to misbehave. I could hardly believe she finally kicked the old dog out. She kept her head firmly buried in the sand for years, where he was concerned. I actually felt sorry for her, if I’m honest. She was working her socks off, doing ridiculous hours at the hospital, trying to get ahead in her career. What did Ed do? Work the bare minimum of shifts he could get away with, get pissed, and shag anyone who’d have him. Don’t get me wrong, he was one of my best mates, but he should never have got married. Serena deserved better. Poor thing didn’t even know he had a vasectomy about 10 years ago. He told me at the time that he wanted to sow his wild oats, without having to worry about them germinating. She was absolutely desperate for a kid, and never even knew he had his tubes tied._

_If you’d told me he died getting a kicking from a jealous husband, I wouldn’t have been all that surprised. He wasn’t too picky about any marriage vows, not just his own. I think he actually preferred women who were already taken, to be honest. There was less likelihood of them wanting anything beyond a casual fling that way. He knew which side his bread was buttered and had no intention of ever leaving Serena. She’s quite the high flyer, and he was firmly attached to her coat tails. He was so outraged when she packed his bags and kicked him out. I just told him he should count himself lucky he’d got away with it for so long. Poor Serena.”_

Bernie raised an eyebrow after reading the transcript of the interview. This was the best friend of Edward Campbell? Wow.

“Right you horrible lot, are we ready? Let’s get through this as quickly as possible, because I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered! So, you’ve all read the David Brown interview? Mo, what did you think of him?”

“He genuinely seemed more upset on Serena’s behalf, than over the fact that his best mate has been killed, Guv. I’m not exactly sure what that says about Campbell,” stated Mo.

“From the sound of it, exactly what Mr Brown said, that Serena deserved better. She told me that she’d actually liked Dave Brown and said nothing about him being a bad influence. The more I know of Edward Campbell, the less I like him, I have to admit. Now, as we know, during the PM, Professor Naylor spotted what she was sure was at least one STI on Campbell. If he was putting it about, confident there wouldn’t be any inconvenient pregnancies, he clearly wasn’t fussy about using protection. Maybe he passed something unpleasant on to the wrong person? Maybe an irate husband did more than give him a kicking?” Bernie speculated.

“Are you saying you don’t think it’s a simple mugging gone wrong, Boss?” Nikki asked, tentatively.

Bernie explained about her misgivings over the car remaining untouched.

“Add to that, the complete lack of defensive wounds on Campbell and it just doesn’t seem like it fits with a mugging. Professor Naylor did find some superficial bruising, but it seemed more consistent with being a symptom of the cirrhosis. Nothing that looked like the result of being pushed around, no finger marks from being grabbed, nothing.”

“Did you talk to Serena about the STI situation, Guv?” Fletch asked.

“I did, and thankfully, she was entirely unsurprised. Finding out he had given her chlamydia is what prompted her to kick him out last month. Apparently she got the diagnosis, packed up his belongings, changed the locks and started to divorce him the second she got home. No messing about.”

“The question is, did she decide to do more about it than merely begin divorce proceedings?” Mo suggested.

“Surely a doctor wouldn’t do something like that?” scoffed Robbie Medcalf.

Bernie looked at him in surprise. He rarely bothered to contribute during a briefing unless specifically asked a question. Unless it was to make an unpleasant comment, that is.

“Tell that to Crippen and Shipman!” called out Jasmine, and the rest of the team all laughed. All apart from Medcalf, who just went red. 

“Okay, okay. We can’t rule Serena out. I’m going to talk to her again tomorrow, and get her movements and so on. Fletch, anything interesting from the house to house?”

“Nothing. Quiet residential street, late at night and midweek. We didn’t even find a convenient dog walker who saw anything, so far. There are a few follow-ups needed, to catch people who weren’t at home, but it’s not looking too hopeful. Uniform are going to take care of the follow-ups.”

“Robbie? Did CCTV capture anything useful?”

“Nope. I’m still collating footage, but nothing yet,” he said, sullenly. 

Bernie resisted the urge to snap at him. On top of his attitude problem, he was just plain lazy. She made a mental note to talk to Chief Superintendent Hanssen, to see if she could get him moved on. She flicked through the papers in front of her on the desk.

“Okay, preliminary forensic report gives us bugger all so far. No obvious foreign fibres, nothing under his nails. We still don’t have a murder weapon. His mobile was found in his car, so as soon as they can get it unlocked, that might give us something. I’ll also be asking to look through any remaining belongings that his wife hasn’t got rid of. There’s a computer, isn’t there, Fletch? There might be something other than pornography on it. Sergeant Fletcher here, was most captivated by Campbell’s extensive magazine collection, weren’t you?” 

“I felt like I needed a shower afterwards, gloves or no gloves!” 

“Magazines? Edward liked his porn old school!” laughed Mo.

“Right, actions for tomorrow. Fletch and I will be going to Serena Campbell’s house to question her and look through his stuff. Robbie, carry on with CCTV. Mo, I’d like you to take Jas and Nikki over to Holby City and talk to Serena’s colleagues. Discreetly, mind you. I also want you to find out where Edward has been working recently, and talk to his colleagues. Finally, team… Pub?”

There was a small cheer from the group as they all stood and began to gather their belongings. They trooped out of Holby Central police station and across to their favourite bar. It had so far solidly resisted becoming trendy, the music wasn’t loud, the drinks were reasonably priced, and they sold a good selection of fried foods, right up until closing time. It was everything they needed in a pub. As promised, Bernie bought the first round, and as she had promised herself, she was on the orange juice. 

As her team chattered around her, all Bernie could do was yawn into her glass. A late finish the night before, plus the early call to the crime scene was taking its toll. Fletch nudged her.

“Come on, Boss. I’m taking you home with me for some dinner. Raf is cooking and there'll be plenty. He always does enough to feed the five thousand!”

“What? Oh there’s no need…”

“No arguments, Bernie. You’ll be helping to save me from eating leftovers for an extra day or two, and you know the kids would love to see you.” Fletch rarely used Bernie’s first name, even though she had told him he could. He always seemed to save it for special occasions, like when he was in full mother hen mode.

“Okay, you horrible lot, I’m going to call it a night. Mo, this should be enough for the second round.” Bernie handed over some cash. “Briefing is at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon, unless anything urgent comes up. Goodnight, kids. And behave yourselves!”


	6. Chapter 6

Bernie pulled her MX5 into her designated parking space and walked into the station with a spring in her step. Being chivvied into going home with Fletch the night before had been just what she needed. Contrary to his obvious belief that Bernie was incapable of looking after herself, she was actually a very good cook. However, all of that _did_ tend to go out of the window when she was working on a big case. 

Plus, she genuinely loved spending time with the Fletcher clan. Although Bernie had never felt that tug towards parenthood herself, she thoroughly enjoyed Fletch’s kids. Evie was sharp and intelligent, determined to become the youngest ever female Chief Constable. Mikey was a cheeky scamp, bouncing from one scrape to the next. The two littlest were just cuddle monsters, who demanded ‘Auntie’ Bernie read to them as soon as they saw her, insisting that she was the best, because she did all the voices. 

Bernie also liked going to the Di Lucca/Fletcher household because she enjoyed seeing the interaction between Raf and Fletch. She might have joked about the friends with benefits arrangement between them, but in reality she knew it was more. The love between them was screamingly obvious, no matter how subtle Fletch may think he was being.

So she left their house, full of good food, and full of love. And clutching a Tupperware full of leftovers in her hand. She had a decent night's sleep and a long hot shower when she got up. All in all, Bernie felt ready to face the day. And hopefully, fully fortified, wouldn't feel like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush when she saw Serena again. She and Fletch were heading to The Spoon for breakfast, and then it was off to Serena's, to hopefully eliminate her as a suspect. Bernie didn't usually want to exonerate her only suspect in a murder enquiry, but she really did hope Serena hadn't bumped off her philandering husband. 

***

Bernie sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked Audi, Fletch back behind the wheel. Before setting off, Bernie had called to let Serena know they were on the way, as she had promised the day before. Fully fortified to face the day ahead or not, she still found the sound of Serena's voice incredibly attractive. That didn't bode well. 

“Do we think it's likely Mrs Campbell bumped off her old man, Guv? A single clean stab wound to the heart, and she's a surgeon. No defensive wounds on him because he didn't think his missus would be a threat. She's gone to confront him again about the STI, he's drunk and gives her a mouthful of abuse. Stabs him in a fit of rage. Could work, don't you think?” speculated. Fletch. 

“She would have to have gone equipped, Fletch. Can you see her popping a scalpel or a knife in her handbag, just in case?”

“She'd found out he had been unfaithful and that's got to hurt. And given her the STI. Chlamydia isn't one of the worst things he could have passed on, but still. And what about the thing in David Brown's statement? Something about Serena wanting kids and Campbell secretly having the snip? Maybe she found out about that somehow. Maybe she just snapped,” he suggested. 

Bernie reread the transcript Mo had provided. 

“Mr Brown seems to think Serena was clueless about Edward Campbell’s… umm, activities, shall we say? And about the vasectomy too. Having said that, they both mentioned that they hadn’t seen the other in years, so I suppose it's possible that Serena knew a lot more than Dave Brown realised. But Fletch, if you were with someone who you knew was messing around behind your back, a - would you tolerate it in the first place, and not say anything, and b - would you risk unprotected sex?” 

Bernie shook her head, thinking back to how it had felt when she found out that Sophie had been unfaithful. It had made Bernie retreat to her bed for a couple of days of crying, listening to sad songs and eating junk food. At no time did she feel like going on a murderous rampage. To be fair, that was a three month old relationship when she was in university, not an eighteen plus year long relationship that included marriage. 

“Maybe they had an open relationship, but he was meant to make sure he always kept it safely wrapped up?”

“That gives her even less motive! That would suggest Serena killed her husband in cold blood over a dose of the clap. I’ve seen women chucking chairs, slicing up clothes, many many punches and slaps and one very memorable frying pan to the head, when wives had found out about an infidelity via the local GUM clinic or doctor. Ha! There was one squaddie, whose wife was an avid member of a kickboxing club, who got a bloody good pasting. I let her off with a caution in the end because he was a twat and she was gorgeous… Ahem, anyway. We need to look into things like life insurance, the house, if he had a will and so on. Money is always a very good motive.”

They pulled up at a red light and Fletch looked across at Bernie.

“Didn’t Brown also say that Campbell worked as little as possible. I doubt he had much money, but if the mortgage gets paid off in the event of his death, that could be worth a fortune. Maybe the prospect of having to either buy him out or sell up when they divorced was too much and she had him killed? If it was me, I wouldn’t want to give up that house,” Fletch observed.

“House has got to be worth, what do you reckon, about three quarters of a million, do you think?” Bernie knew there was a time, before moving in with Raf, when Fletch used to scour the property sections in all the local papers.

“That part of town, if it’s a four bedroom, it’s worth a million quid easily. I can’t see an NHS doc, even a surgeon, being able to buy out to the tune of half a million, can you Boss? Means she was set to lose her house once the divorce happened. That’s a good motive.”

“You’re right, that is a very good motive,” she sighed. 

Fletch shot her a quick glance.

“You don’t normally sound so down in the dumps about sounding out a solid motive for the only suspect in a murder inquiry. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Bernie sighed again.

“You like her.” A smile of realisation crept across Fletch’s face.

“What? No, of course not,” Bernie scoffed.

“You do. You fancy her. I thought she was just your type when she answered the door,” Fletch crowed.

“Serena ‘frosty knickers don’t call me Ms Campbell’ Campbell? Don’t be silly, Sergeant.”

“Serena ‘warm brown eyes and sexy husky voice’ Campbell, more like. Come on Bernie, I know you, remember?” he said, gently.

“Okay, you win. I think Serena is very attractive,” Bernie allowed, rather primly. “It’s irrelevant, however. She’s the wife of our victim. She could be a suspect. That’s all there is to say on the matter.”

“Fingers crossed she’s got a decent alibi, eh Guv? Then you’ll be able to begin wooing her.” 

Bernie gave him a filthy look. 

“Just shut up and drive, Sergeant Fletcher.”

 

Fletch fell silent for a couple of minutes wondering if he’d pushed too hard, before clearing his throat.

“So, uh, so how are we approaching this, Boss? Are you still going to be treading extra carefully, or pushing hard for answers? I always think it’s difficult with a victim’s partner, knowing how to pitch it.” 

“I wish I knew, Fletch. I don’t think we need to go _too_ gently with her. Serena has made it quite clear that she isn’t the traditional grieving widow. We’ll just have to play it by ear and hope she doesn’t give us a hard time.”

“Want me to properly go through his stuff, if she gives permission?”

“Yes please. I know you’ve been itching to have a good rummage through that porn stash of his,” Bernie laughed.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I stuck an extra few pairs of gloves in my pocket in anticipation of having to touch his spank bank again. Dirty sod.” 

 

Parking was more scarce in the affluent neighbourhood that morning, and Fletch had to park about two hundred yards down the street. As they walked up the drive, Bernie noticed the wheelie bins, tucked in their discreet alcove. She glanced towards the house to see if Serena was in sight. No sign of her.

“Fletch, watch the house, and let me know if you see Serena, I just want to check something.”

She quickly crossed to the bins and lifted the lid she had watched Serena slam shut the day before. There was the brightly coloured bouquet of flowers that had apparently angered Serena so much. Bernie had a poke among the blooms, as she had seen Serena do the previous afternoon, but there was no card. What there was, beneath the bouquet, were several other very similar bunches of flowers in varying states of decay. Interesting. She quietly replaced the lid and went to rejoin Fletch.

“It looks like someone has been sending Serena unwanted, expensive looking bunches of flowers. I wonder what that means.”

“Secret, or not so secret admirer? Edward trying to get back in her good books?” Fletch suggested.

“There was a bunch waiting for her in the doorstep yesterday, which I saw her dump straight in the bin. That’s what made me look. I suppose Campbell could have pre ordered them to be delivered. Anyway, we’d better get on.”

“Yeah, you don’t want Serena to tell you off for-” Fletch broke off abruptly, with a pained laugh, as Bernie elbowed him sharply in the ribs. She straightened her jacket, smoothed down her hair and reached for the doorbell.


	7. Chapter 7

Bernie took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, bracing herself to see Serena, and schooling her features into a calm, bland expression. That didn't stop Bernie's pulse from starting to race as soon as the door was opened. 

“Good morning Chief Inspector, Sergeant. Come in.”

Serena sounded subdued. Particularly in comparison to the fairly feisty woman who had answered the door the day before. She also looked tired and somehow vulnerable, which made Bernie ache to give her a comforting hug. Serena directed them through to the neat but comfortable and cozy living room. 

“Would you both like a drink?” she asked. 

“Don't worry, Mrs..I mean Serena, I'll make it.” offered Fletch. “Black coffee, strong, with two sugars, wasn't it?” 

“Well remembered, but I would prefer tea please. Strong, with milk and two sugars. Ms Wolfe?” 

“Fletch knows how I like mine. It was the first thing I taught him when we began working together. Half the reason I keep him around, is his way with a kettle,” joked Bernie. 

As she had done the day before at the mortuary, Bernie checked with Serena, and set her phone down between them with Nicky's recording app running. While they were waiting for Fletch, Bernie also got permission to go through the remainder of Edward’s belongings. As impressed as she was with the time saving app Nicky had introduced to the team, Bernie was old fashioned enough to prefer to also commit key facts to paper, so as soon as Fletch returned to the room with the drinks, he pulled out his notebook and pen. 

Before Bernie could open her mouth, Serena began.

“Well, I’ve seen enough police dramas to know that you’ll want an account of my whereabouts before, during and after the time Edward was killed,” she said, in a very business-like fashion.

“Uh, yes we will need that information, but what I wanted to ask you first, if I may, is do you have any idea what passcode Edward might have used on his mobile? Initially we thought it had been stolen along with his watch and wallet, but it appears he had left it in his car. It would save our tech people a lot of time if you could help.”

Serena snorted.

“Tell them to try four zeros. If that doesn’t work, then try one, two, three, four. If it’s neither of them, then his date of birth is the only other number I can think he would use. The man is so lazy that he even changed the PINs of all his cards to his date of birth,”

Bernie thanked Serena and picked up her phone to text the information to Frieda Petrenko.

“You might want to warn whoever accesses the phone, to brace themselves when they look at his photos and videos. You saw the contents of his desk yesterday, Sergeant. I don’t doubt for a second that there’s more of the same on his phone.”

Serena looked at Fletch with a raised eyebrow, silently challenging him to deny poking around in Edward’s office the day before. Fletch just flushed and looked sheepish.

“Thank you, Serena. Our head of forensics is no shrinking violet, but I’m sure she will appreciate the warning,” Bernie said with a smile, as she sent a supplementary text to Frieda. 

“So, the day before yesterday. Obviously I don’t know when he was killed, therefore allow me to give you the full details of my day. I left home at around 7.45 for the twenty minute drive to the hospital. I was working a 9 to 5 shift, so naturally was on the ward from approximately 8.10am until I finally finished at just before 7pm. I didn’t leave the hospital premises at all during that time and I’m sure my colleagues and the hospital CCTV will able be to attest to that. The drive home took a little longer, as they have begun yet more roadworks on the London Road, and I was waiting for bloody ages at the temporary traffic lights. I think I arrived home at about 7.30, or maybe a tiny bit later. I had a shower and changed into pyjamas, before ordering my usual Chinese set meal for one from Ho Ho, my usual Chinese takeaway, at about 8 o’clock. It arrived, probably twenty minutes later. Freddie was the delivery driver, if that helps. He wants to study medicine, so we usually have a bit of a chat whenever he delivers to me. I was shattered and hungry though, so I kept it very brief. I ate in front of the television. I then worked my way through all the emails I hadn’t had a chance to read at the hospital that day. I can show you the sent folder on my work laptop, but I think I finished that at somewhere around 11.30 at which point I went to bed.” Serena ground to a halt, and stared rather defiantly at Bernie, as if expecting to be immediately challenged about her account.

“Thank you, that’s very helpful, Serena. I will take a look at your sent folder, and if you can give us their details, we’ll check with the restaurant about your takeaway. They will both be very useful.”

Bernie barely stopped herself from rubbing her hands together in glee. Whilst not exactly an ironclad alibi, several elements of Serena’s evening were easily corroborated. Unless Campbell had been stabbed at the later end of the time of death window, and she had dashed halfway across the city to do it, Serena seemed to be in the clear. She could also get an Automated Number Plate Recognition check done on Serena’s car just to make sure. 

“Oh, I just remembered…” Serena began.

“Yes?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think I had a silent call, a heavy breather that night. I’ve had a few lately, and I can’t remember for sure if it was the night before last. I had one at about midnight, a couple of nights ago, either way. I have to keep both landline and mobile available, just in case the hospital need to get in touch, which makes nuisance calls particularly annoying.”

Bernie looked at Fletch. A call answered by Serena at home at about 12am would be the final element needed to prove she hadn’t killed her husband.

“Was this a call to your mobile or your landline, Serena?”

“Landline. I remember that, because I’ve checked after each one, to see if I could get the number blocked, but they always withhold it.”

“How long have these calls been going on, Serena?” Bernie really didn’t like the idea of some creep calling Serena and panting down the phone, scaring her.

“A couple of months now, I think.”

“Who are you with, BT? Okay, we can get on to BT and look into that.”

Bernie jotted a couple of things down in her own notebook. 

“Now, Serena, I’m afraid I need to ask some questions which I know are personal and intrusive,” Bernie said gently.

“Ask whatever you need. I have absolutely nothing to hide. If it allows you to move on faster and find the murderer, then go right ahead.”

“Right, thank you,” 

Bernie flipped to the notes she had written herself, stalling for a little time, to gather her thoughts. She never usually had problems formulating an interview strategy, but this attraction was throwing her for a bit of a loop. She found herself wanting to take it easy on Serena, but at the same time, knew she needed this information to move the investigation forward. It’s for Serena’s sake too, she told herself. Eliminating her completely as a suspect could only be a good thing. 

“You told us yesterday that you’re in the process of divorcing Edward. That would have quite a financial impact, if not an emotional one,” Bernie found that making a statement, rather than asking a specific question could be quite useful during interviews. 

“Did I bump him off to save myself the cost of the divorce? Is that what you’re asking? Or have him bumped off, I suppose. Edward had no money to speak of. His Rolex was a fake, his clothes were designer knockoffs. His stupid, flashy, penis extension of a car was leased. I think they were chasing him for unpaid fees in fact, if some of the letters that have been arriving recently were anything to go by. He lived mainly on credit, as far as I could tell. He was a workshy drunk, Ms Wolfe. If anything, his death will probably cost me money, because no doubt I’ll be liable for his debts, given we were still married.” 

Serena stood, and began pacing restlessly around the room. This was the closest Bernie had seen her come to losing her cool.

“What about life insurance?” Bernie asked.

“There was a policy which will pay off the remainder of the mortgage, and another small policy worth a few thousand. I’ve been paying the premiums myself for the last few years. What am I saying? I’ve been paying for absolutely everything for the last few years. Kathryn, my solicitor, was fully confident I would get to keep the house and its contents, down to the last fish finger in the freezer, because I could prove that Edward hadn’t contributed a single penny in years.”

“The house must be worth a lot of money, Serena. What if your solicitor was wrong about the outcome of the divorce?” 

Serena slumped back on to the sofa opposite Bernie. 

“We bought this place when I was fresh out of med school. We couldn’t really afford it, but my parents helped out with a big deposit and it was dirt cheap, believe it or not. This might be a nice, well heeled suburb now, but it was very much the wrong end of town back then. Our neighbours were a weed dealer, squatting on one side, and a knocking shop on the other. Don’t get me wrong, the stoners and the working girls were all very nice people, but it did keep property values low. The house was also a complete shit heap. I nigh on rebuilt the place from the ground up. Emphasis on I. Evenings, days off, in between studying and putting in the punishing amount of hours expected of a junior doctor, I worked on the house. My parents helped bail me out a couple of times when something big needed doing, like replacing the entire roof for example. Tragically, they were both killed in an RTC when I was twenty seven, and I ploughed most of the money they left me into this place. This house had been a labour of love for me from day one. And do you know what, Chief Inspector? I would walk away from it tomorrow, without a backward glance. If Kathryn had been wrong, and it was ruled that the value of the house would have to be shared, the only thing that would really have bothered me is that he would be getting money he didn’t deserve. This was meant to be a home to bring up our family in, and that will never happen. What do I need with a house this size?”

For the first time, Bernie saw Serena Campbell’s control begin to crumble and a tear slowly ran down her cheek. Bernie silently signalled Fletch to go and begin his search of Campbell’s office. She moved across to sit next to Serena, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and went to hand her a tissue. Before she quite knew what was happening, Serena leaned into her, buried her face into the crook of Bernie’s neck, and began to sob.

Bernie swallowed hard, and tried not to enjoy the feeling of holding Serena Campbell in her arms. Tried not to breathe in the scent of Serena’s perfume, or notice how well they seemed to fit together. Bernie had never failed so hard at anything in her life! The sensation of Serena resting her head on Bernie’s shoulder was absolutely intoxicating. I could be in real trouble here, Bernie thought. 

Serena drew in a few shuddering breaths and slowly pulled away. She took the tissue Bernie held out to her, with an embarrassed little smile. She wiped her eyes and noticed the streaks of mascara.

“Oh god, I’ve got makeup all over your shirt, Ms Wolfe. I’m so sorry!” she gasped, reaching out to touch the damp collar.

Bernie twisted to look at her shirt and shrugged.

“Please, call me Bernie, and honestly, don’t worry about it, Serena. I’ve had much worse things deposited on me during my career, believe me. As have you, no doubt.”

Serena gave a damp little laugh, and blew her nose.

“I can’t tell you how many blouses I’ve had ruined by patients. There’s a very good reason why most hospital doctors spend their lives wearing scrubs.”

“There is a lot to be said for wearing a uniform to work, that’s for sure.”

They fell silent for a short while, as Serena composed herself after her emotional outburst, and Bernie quietened the spark of desire that had ignited at the feel of holding Serena.

“Did you really mean it? That you could walk away from the house, after everything you put in? From the little I’ve seen of it, it’s beautiful. I mean, I like my little flat, but the whole thing could nigh on fit into this room alone,” Bernie asked, looking around the large room, with its huge windows and high ceiling.

“I’m beginning to actively loathe it, if I’m being entirely honest. It feels like it’s become a symbol of the life I was meant to have and now never will. There were meant to be a couple of children running around by now, but it just didn’t happen,” Serena said, with a sigh.

“A vasectomy will do that,” Bernie muttered to herself, under her breath.

**“A what?”**

Oh shit.


	8. Chapter 8

_“A vasectomy?”_

There was a distinct growl in Serena's voice.

“Er… We, um, we don't know for sure, but we have been told that Edward had a vasectomy... You didn't know about it?”

Serena jumped up and began pacing around the room again. 

“No, I didn't fucking know Edward had a fucking vasectomy!”

She stalked back to the sofa, and stood, hands on hips, in front of Bernie. 

“Who told you? Who the _hell_ knew about this, but didn't bother telling me?” demanded Serena. 

She may be a Detective Chief Inspector in the Holby Metropolitan Police and a former Major with the Royal Military Police, but suddenly Bernie felt like a nervous school child in front of an angry headteacher. She had literally stared down the barrel of a gun and felt a little less intimidated than when Serena turned that fiery gaze on her, and demanded answers. 

“Oh, wait a minute. It was Dave Brown, wasn't it? They probably had them done together, so they could both go out shagging without risking any paternity issues. I'm right aren't I?” she asked, fiercely. 

Bernie sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“A couple of my colleagues talked to Mr Brown yesterday, and yes, he told them that Edward had secretly had a vasectomy. I don’t suppose it helps, but from what I read in the transcript of the interview, Mr Brown seems to genuinely regret how Edward behaved.”

“That’s big of him!” Serena snorted. “If he was that bothered, he could have told me that Edward was shagging anything that moved throughout most of our marriage. Did he say how long ago it was done?”

“Um, about ten years ago,” Bernie ventured.

“Oh Christ.”

All the fight suddenly seemed to go out of Serena and she dropped back down on the sofa beside Bernie. She began talking in a low voice.

 

“I’ve always wanted a child. I hadn't envisioned a huge brood, but could never quite imagine a future where I didn’t have at least one son or daughter. Edward kept on putting me off - ‘wait until our careers are more established, wait until the house is more livable, wait until we’re more financially stable’. Finally, as I was getting closer and closer to forty, he gave in, and I came off the Pill. Edward, of course, had always refused to use condoms. The months passed, and I became more and more upset with each period. I brought up the possibility of going to see a fertility expert, to at least check that there were no underlying reasons why we weren’t conceiving. Edward point blank refused. As far as he was concerned, if we couldn’t do it naturally, with no outside interference, then it clearly wasn’t meant to be.”

Serena looked at Bernie, who shrugged.

“I suppose it’s no wonder he wouldn’t agree to having any tests,” Bernie offered.

“I decided that I could at least get _myself_ checked out, to make sure everything on my side was in working order. If I was completely fertile, then I could work on Edward to try and somehow change his mind about visiting a specialist. I have an old friend from my med school days who went on to become a fertility specialist, so I got in touch to ask for a recommendation. Jane wouldn’t hear of anyone else seeing me, and insisted on doing the consultation herself. She had just taken a position at St James, so in some ways it seemed a little like fate. Although I felt it might be a bit awkward, having intimate examinations done by a friend, Jane is very highly regarded in her field, so I agreed. 

After a battery of tests, I went to Jane’s office to receive the results. From the look on her face, I could tell it wasn’t great news. Jane explained to me that I had pelvic inflammatory disease, caused by chlamydia, and had clearly had it for a long while. As a result, I had been rendered infertile. So basically in one fell swoop, I discovered I couldn’t have kids, had an STI and that clearly my husband had been unfaithful. That was why I immediately kicked him out and had started divorce proceedings.”

“Oh Serena, I’m sorry,” Bernie put a hesitant hand on Serena’s shoulder. She wasn’t a naturally tactile person, but the pain in Serena’s voice made her want to gather the other woman up in her arms. 

“So there you go, another huge motive for you. How many is that now?” Serena asked acerbically. 

Bernie could almost physically see Serena climbing back into her protective armour, after having shown such a vulnerable side to herself.

“Let’s see now,” Serena began holding up her fingers, ticking things off, one by one. “The ultimate quickie divorce. Retaining the big, fancy house. The embarrassing STI. And finally, the infertility. Have I missed anything? Of course, I nearly forgot, the general humiliation that Edward’s behaviour was apparently common knowledge to almost everyone apart from me.” 

Serena glared at Bernie, her hand thrust out, stiffly. Bernie took hold of Serena’s hand in both of hers, and lowered it.

“Having said all of that, DCI Wolfe, I have spent my entire career fighting to keep people alive. Just because Edward Campbell ruined my life, it doesn’t mean I would take his. I did **not** kill my husband.”

“Serena, please calm down. Look, I realise that this has obviously been a very difficult and stressful time for you. Your emotions are all over the place and you’ve had an awful lot to process. You’ve already given us an excellent, detailed timeline that covers the time Edward was attacked. We can verify a lot of it very easily, which is great. It would also be a real help if you’ll allow your solicitor, Ms Carson, to talk to us about the divorce.”

Bernie suddenly realised she still had hold of Serena’s hand, and had been gently stroking it while talking. She idly noticed the contrast between the delicate, soft skin on the back of Serena’s hand, versus the rougher skin of her palm. Presumably a result of frequently scrubbing them for surgery and all the hand sanitiser. Bernie was a big fan of a medical drama, and had a (possibly wildly inaccurate) idea of what Serena’s job entailed. She gave Serena’s hand a final, awkward pat, then pulled away, placing her own hands firmly on her thighs.

“You can have whatever information you need Chief Inspector. I’ll ring Kathryn and tell her to give you full disclosure. I’ll contact my bank and ask them to give you access to all of my finances. The only things left in the house belonging to Edward are in his study. I’ve scoured the house, and anything I missed the day I threw him out, I chucked in a box and left on the porch. He either came by and collected it, or it was stolen. Either way, I didn’t really care. You’re very welcome to take the contents of the study. In fact, I would be very grateful if you _did_ take his pornography. It’s silly I know, but I’ve been too embarrassed to put them in my recycling bin, in case anyone saw them.” 

Serena looked at Bernie, and for some reason that struck them both as ridiculously funny, and they both started laughing.

“What _would_ the neighbours say?” laughed Bernie.

“Ha, this has turned into a neighbourhood full of uptight Tory voters. They would undoubtedly be publicly horrified, but privately wondering if there were any of the issues that they’d missed of Spankers Monthly or whatever filth he has in that desk.”

They both began laughing again. 

“God, I think that’s the first time I’ve actually laughed in weeks,” said Serena, once they calmed down. “I feel better for it too, so thank you for that, Ms Wolfe.”

Bernie picked her mobile up from the coffee table, and switched off the recording app.

“It’s Bernie, please. Look Serena, I wouldn’t normally say this, but you have my mobile number, and if anything else occurs to you, if you have any questions or even if you just need someone to talk to, you can always call me. Now, if you can furnish me with a couple of bin bags, I’ll get Fletch to remove Edward’s full and comprehensive back catalogue of Spankers Monthly.”

The sweet smile Serena gave her, made Bernie’s heart skip a beat and her stomach flip. Oh god, this was bad. This was very bad indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

“And what exactly are we going to do with a boot full of porn, Guv?” Fletch asked as the car pulled away from Serena’s house.

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, Fletch, if I’m honest. Serena didn’t quite know how to get rid of it, so I offered,” Bernie replied, sheepishly. 

“Ah, so the intrepid DCI Wolfe rushed to the aid of the beautiful damsel in distress Serena, eh?”

Bernie rolled her eyes at the sarcastic tone.

“Wait a moment, I know how we can get rid. We’ll take it up to the fourth floor and leave it with Vice. I’m sure Duval would love to check that there’s nothing illegal amongst the collection. Pornography is his area of expertise, after all. You know there’s that rumour that his personal stash of filthy magazines is so large he had to rent a storage unit to accommodate it.”

“Yes Boss, and I also know it was you who started the bloody rumour because Xavier Duval slapped you on the arse on your first day at Holby Central, when he didn’t know who you were!”

They looked at each other, and started laughing.

“I was rather proud of the rate the rumour flew around the entire station,” chuckled Bernie, a trifle smugly. “He’s just lucky I didn’t lose him his job, the sexist bastard.”

“It was an excellent bit of revenge, that's for sure. Any woman that spends more than about half an hour in the station seems to hear the rumour, and immediately assumes he's a huge pervert.”

Bernie nodded with the quiet satisfaction of a job well done. 

“You don't spend as many years as I have in male dominated environments without learning a thing or two. I very quickly learnt that lashing out got me in trouble and complaining generally got me nowhere. I found my own, more subtle ways of dealing with things. Back to the subject of huge perverts, were you able to get into Campbell's P.C.?” Bernie enquired. 

“Well, on the strength of what Serena told you about his possible phone PINs, I was hoping he would have a PIN entry set up on his computer. Unfortunately, he didn't. Fortunately, his password was ‘password’.

They looked at each other and both shook their heads. 

“How can someone who's intelligent enough to get through donkey's years of training to become an anaesthetist, be stupid enough not to secure their phone and computer properly?”

“It works out well for us though, Guv. Obviously, we'll drop the P.C. off with Frieda Petrenko for someone at her lab to have a proper root through, but it did mean I could have a little poke about myself. Inevitably, tons of porn. His Internet search history? Porn. Photos? Porn. Downloads? Porn. You get the idea. It didn't look like he used it for much else. No sign of him using a digital calendar or diary, no saved text documents, no email program installed either. Basically, as far as I could tell, it was just another spank bank.”

Bernie grimaced. What a delightful mental image Fletch had managed to conjure up. 

“Why the hell would a man with a wife who looks like Serena Campbell be constantly unfaithful? Not to mention having so much pornography. Is it a male thing, Fletch?”

“Which part? The unfaithful bit, or the porn?”

“Both.”

“I definitely think he had a problem when it came to porn. I imagine men are generally more into it than women, most of it is produced for male consumption after all. The amount Campbell had though, no one needs that much! As for him being unfaithful to Serena? I suppose some men don’t know when they’re well off, and just think with their dick,” Fletch concluded, with a little shrug.

Bernie gave a little shudder.

“You know what Fletch? I think I’ve had more than enough penis-related discussions for one day. Shall we stop for a sandwich before we head to the station?”

“Sounds good to me. Sausage sandwich for you is it, Guv?” he asked, with a sly grin.

“Fletch?”

“Yes, Guv?”

“Piss off.” 

**

The Holby Forensic Science lab was on the floor above the mortuary, in a modern, purpose built block. Fletch was out of breath by the time they reached the correct floor, Edward Campbell’s P.C tower clutched in his arms. 

“Bloody hell boss, are you trying to kill me? Why couldn’t we wait for the lift?” he panted.

“A few flights of stairs shouldn’t knock the wind out of you Fletch. You’re getting old and unfit,” she said with a smile.

“I’m lugging a dirty great computer… You know what? Never mind. I suppose we can't all be mega fit Army types,” replied Fletch, determined not to rise to Bernie's wind up bait. 

“Wolfe.”

They turned to see Frieda Petrenko standing in the doorway of her office. As always, Bernie was struck by the contrast of Frieda's crisp white lab coat and her full Goth makeup. 

“Petrenko.”

Fletch placed the computer tower on a nearby work surface, and the three of them went into the office and sat down. 

“We have another porn-filled present for you, Frieda. Edward Campbell's computer. Fletch here has had a little look, and found nothing but a large collection of pornography. I thought it might be worth having one of your team dig a little deeper, just in case.”

The corner of Frieda's mouth twitched upwards. 

“I appreciated the warning about the probability of the phone contents being… unsavoury. I passed it on to Valentine. I thought it was probably up his street. Possibly not the best decision, as it took him twice as long as it should have done to go through.”

Frieda and Bernie rolled their eyes in sync. Men! 

“Maybe it would be wise to find another team member for the P.C. I don't suppose you want to waste too much more time on Campbell’s pornography addiction,” said Bernie with a snort. “Anything of any actual interest, forensically on any of his belongings?” 

“I have just emailed you my report, but I can summarise it for you. There has been nothing of great interest. Apart from the disgusting amount of pornographic material on his phone, there was very little else. I have included his contacts and call log in the report, along with the few emails. They mainly appear to be work related. It would seem he had begun to regularly miss locum positions he was booked for, and his agency was on the verge of dropping him from their books.”

“Didn't Serena, suggest Campbell had money troubles, Guv? You’d think he would be taking all the locum shifts he could get. I know when I was broke, I worked as much overtime as I could manage, to help make ends meet,” Fletch commented. 

“I suppose being an alcoholic who was constantly sponging off his wife is a hard habit to break,” replied Bernie. 

Frieda rested her chin on her steepled fingers. 

“The more I learn of this Edward Campbell, the less I like him,” said Petrenko, with a sardonic twist of the mouth. 

“Snap.”

“It doesn't help that the boss fancies-” 

“Thank you, Fletch. That's enough!” Bernie snapped. 

Frieda just raised an eyebrow, and continued to summarise her findings. 

“Texts on the phone were minimal, besides a ‘sext’ conversation with someone called Millie. His mangling of the English language was appalling. In his car we found very little. He seemed to keep it clean and it appeared to have been recently valeted inside and out. Clothes showed up nothing of real interest. His fingernails were bitten right down and there was nothing of value to be found under them.”

Bernie sighed. It didn't seem as though forensics were going to give them many new avenues to explore. With Serena ruled out, subject to her timeline being verified, they didn't seem to have much of anything to go on. 

“Thank you Frieda. I don't think there's any great need to rush with the computer. Fletch didn't find anything of interest, and a man whose password is ‘password’ doesn't seem too likely to have anything hidden or encrypted.”

They stood, and Frieda walked them back to the stairwell entrance. 

“You haven't forgotten, it's 7.00 on Saturday evening, Bernie? You know how she is about lateness,” said Petrenko, as Bernie pushed open the door to the stairs. 

“No, I haven't forgotten, and don't worry, I’ll be bang on time. I don't fancy an entire evening of being lectured about poor timekeeping. Cheers, Frieda, see you on Saturday. Come on Fletch,” Bernie said as she ushered him through the double doors. 

“Saturday?” 

“What, you think the only social life I have is with you, Raf and the kids? Frieda Petrenko happens to cook amazing traditional Ukrainian food, and believe it or not, Jac Naylor makes unbelievable curries. This weekend it’s curry and a couple of DVDs at their place.”

**

“Okay you horrible lot, settle down, please. If we can get through this quickly and efficiently, we might get out of here at a reasonable time today. I know one or two of you have actual lives outside of work.”

Bernie paused for the inevitable nudging and good natured ribbing. Apart from Robbie Medcalf, who sat po-faced as usual. 

“As you know, Fletch and I went over to have a more detailed discussion with Serena Campbell today. It seems that she is fairly well alibied, right up until a little way after midnight. Although she was alone for the main part once she left work, there's a takeaway delivery driver that puts her indoors at 8.25pm. He has delivered to her on numerous occasions, and therefore knows for sure that it was actually Serena who accepted the food. We have her sending work emails right up until 11.29pm and an incoming call to her landline, answered at 12.16am and lasting 21 seconds. This was apparently the latest in a recent spate of heavy breather calls she has been receiving. I don't know if it is relevant, but we checked out the number, and it's an unregistered pay as you go. BT have blocked the number, but if he’s a persistent pervert, chances are he'll just buy a new SIM card.”

Bernie looked across the table at Medcalf. 

“Get her plate checked on the Automated Number Plate Recognition system tomorrow please, Robbie. The chances of her bombing it right across town to stab Campbell within our time of death window are slim, but it's best to make sure. Talking of ANPR, what did it show up for Edward Campbell's movements yesterday?” she asked the sulky sergeant. 

“You didn't say anything about ANPR. You told me to go through CCTV, not ANPR,” he whined. 

Bernie paused and took a deep breath, before un-clenching her teeth to reply. 

“How long have you been working on my major incident team, Sergeant? You know damned well that whoever is working on CCTV also checks the appropriate vehicle movements. Right, I want the whereabouts of both Edward and Serena Campbell's cars for the twenty four hours leading up to his body being found yesterday morning. And I want them on my desk first thing. What did CCTV show up?” she demanded. 

“Nothing of any use,” Medcalf muttered, sulkily. 

That was the final straw. It was, without doubt, time to go to Hanssen and ask him to start the ball rolling to transfer Robbie Medcalf out of her team. Enough was enough. She shouldn't have to guide an experienced copper through the basics. Nicky and Jasmine had more initiative than he did, and they were both brand new to major incident. 

“Mo, you talked to colleagues of both of the Campbells. I gather from emails sent to Edward, that he was regularly missing work.”

“That's right, Guv. I spoke to Julie Davis, who runs the locum agency, and she had literally just drafted a letter to Campbell, telling him he was out on his ear. They hadn't booked him into much of anything recently, because he was becoming so unreliable, and it was tarnishing the reputation of the agency. He had basically been at the bottom of their list, and was only offered work if there was no one else available. Even that had become an untenable situation, however and Ms Davis had had enough. We spoke to everyone who worked at the office, and every single woman agreed he was a dirty old letch. The men said the same, and that they always kept an eye on him, particularly around any new, young female recruits.”

“It sounds like he was lucky not to have been done for sexual harassment,” commented Fletch. 

“I was just about to mention something along those lines, Fletch. There was a secretary who was reportedly sexually assaulted by Campbell, about eight weeks ago. He allegedly cornered her, groped her breasts and shoved his hand between her legs. She declined to make a complaint, but quit her job the very next day. Her boyfriend came in, shouting the odds, threatening to ‘rip Campbell limb from limb’. They're definitely worth a follow up.”

“Good work, Mo. What about Serena's colleagues? It's a bit of a moot point now, but still.” 

Bernie was interested so hear what the people who knew Serena had to say about her. She wasn't sure what she hoped for. That Serena was a terrible person, which might help temper the attraction she felt towards the newly widowed surgeon? That Serena was a veritable Saint, loved and revered by all? 

“We split them up. I took the more senior doctors, and Nicky and Jasmine took the younger doctors and nurses,” Mo explained. “I talked briefly to the hospital CEO, Abigail Tate. She hasn't been at Holby City for long, but she had known Serena at some point in the past. Said that Serena runs a tight ship, but is always right there, in the corner of any of her team that has a problem, fighting for them. Then there was Eric Griffin, the consultant who runs the ward alongside Serena. He said she was quite ambitious and not a little ruthless when she first came to the hospital, but had calmed down and settled in very nicely. Called her ‘a fine woman’ then promptly asked me out. He definitely thinks of himself as a bit of a smooth operator.” 

“I saw that from across the ward,” piped up Nicky. “You should have seen his face when the Sarge whipped out her phone to show him a photo of baby Hector!”

Everyone around the table (apart from Robbie) laughed.

“To be fair to the man, he took it with good grace, and immediately showed me pictures of a couple of his grandkids. Right, so the last senior doctor I spoke to was a consultant who works on one of the other wards, Sasha Levy. He had nothing but good things to say. He has recently been suffering badly with depression and Serena has been helping support him through it. She’s clearly very well liked amongst her peers. Incidentally, none of them said much about Edward, beyond expressing shock at his death. They did know about the marriage split, but she prefers to keep her private life private, from what I can gather.”

“Thank you, Mo. Nicky, Jas, what did you find out?”

Jasmine and Nicky looked at each other, silently deciding who would go first. Jasmine took the plunge.

“I spoke to Dominic Copeland, who works on the same ward as Mr Levy. He clearly loves a gossip. He’s the only person amongst the Holby City staff we spoke to, who mentioned Edward Campbell’s habit of shag... erm, I mean his infidelity. Apparently Mr Copeland had heard from a few different sources, at a couple of different hospitals, about Edward’s habit of hitting on any woman with a pulse. I asked if he had ever said anything to Serena, but he didn’t feel it was his place. He likes Serena, and has a lot of respect for her, but is also a bit scared of her. He’s happier to work with Mr Levy, who is, and I quote, ‘a great big teddy bear’. On Serena’s ward, I spoke to Lou Morley, a nurse who’s worked on AAU since well before Serena arrived. She didn’t have a lot to say, beyond the fact that Serena is a good boss, who runs the ward better than any of her predecessors.”

Jasmine ground to a halt, and looked at Bernie with her usual wide, puppy-like grin.

“Thank you Jas. Nicky?”

“I talked to the AAU ward manager, Donna Jackson. She loves Serena. Said she’s a brilliant doctor, and is incredibly supportive. It was Serena who encouraged Donna to go for promotion, and backed her when she went for the ward manager job. Donna had taken a break from nursing, but Serena said she shouldn’t let something like that hold her back. I also spoke to Dr Morven Digby, who utterly adores Serena. She said that Serena is an amazing mentor and has learnt so much since working with her. Dr Digby lost her husband, Arthur, to cancer very recently. Arthur was also a doctor at Holby City and had been another of Serena’s protégées. Morven reckons she could never have got through everything without Serena. I got the impression that Serena is almost as much a mother figure to her as a boss and mentor.”

“Okay, thank you. So in summary, as well as almost certainly being at home on the other side of town when Edward Campbell was murdered, Serena appears to be an all round decent and well-liked person. At least we can draw a line under that, subject to the info from ANPR. Incidentally, I talked to the solicitor who's handling the divorce. She said that it was almost a dead cert that Serena would get the house in the divorce, and Edward would walk away with next to nothing.”

“She’s lucky. I have extreme house envy, and I’ve only seen a bit of the downstairs,” Fletch said.

“Right, tomorrow. Fletch and I will be digging into Serena's financials, just to rule out the possibility she hired someone to bump him off. We'll also look at Edward's, although Serena seems to think he's broke. Maybe he owed money to the wrong people. Mo, I want you, Jas and Nicky to look into the background of this secretary that Campbell assaulted, and her boyfriend, too. Interviews and all the usual stuff. Robbie, you can begin collating evidence and information.”

Robbie Medcalf opened his mouth as if to object to his assignment, but one glance at the glare Bernie gave him, made him rethink. He shut his mouth with an audible snap, and just nodded.

“Okay you horrible lot, off home with you all. I’m going upstairs to brief the big boss about our progress. Such as it is. Wish me luck with Mr Hanssen!”


	10. Chapter 10

Bernie was sitting at her desk, sifting through the various reports into the death of Edward Campbell for the umpteenth time. She was frustrated by the complete lack of progress in the case after a full week of investigations. Every single possible lead had turned out to be a dead end. 

Elaine Price, the secretary from the locum agency, and her boyfriend Mark Avery, both had a very solid alibi. They were out of the country, two weeks into a month long holiday in New Zealand. Bernie had gone as far as pulling a few strings, and had contacted her old RMP friend, Alex Dawson. Alex emigrated to NZ when she left the Royal Military Police, and had become a copper over there. She agreed to check Elaine and Mark out, and tracked them down for an informal interview.

Mark was still angry about what Campbell had done to Elaine, and neither of them were exactly upset to hear what had happened to him. Mark told Alex that even if Campbell _had_ been there the day after the assault on Elaine, he would never have laid a finger on the man. He was just so upset, angry and exhausted after a sleepless night of holding his girlfriend in his arms as she processed what had happened to her. He held her tight, through tears and anger and self-blame. When he went to the offices of the agency, all he had really needed was to offload his anger and frustration, and have a good rant. Mark assured Alex Dawson that he didn't have a violent bone in his body. 

Elaine talked to Alex about being warned on her first day, that if Edward Campbell was around, to avoid being alone with him. On reflection, she was thoroughly pissed off that the agency was employing someone who they passed off as ‘a bit of a sexist pig’, but had in actual fact proven to be a sexual predator. They had talked about the possibility of Elaine going to the police, and about suing both the agency and Campbell, but ultimately, she couldn't face it. The experience had shaken her up, but she just resolved to not let it affect her life. She began self defence lessons and she and Mark decided to book the dream holiday that they had long been discussing and saving for.

Whilst Bernie was disappointed to have had a promising lead turn out to be a dead end, she was pleased that Elaine had been able to begin to put the assault firmly behind her. At least that was one life Edward Campbell hadn’t managed to ruin. 

Besides that, the team had been chasing every single name in his phone. Many hadn't seen him in a very long time. Several of the numbers were no longer in service, and hadn't been active in years. It seemed Edward Campbell was in the habit of saving just about every female's phone number he had ever managed to get hold of. There were women in his phone book who hadn't seen hide nor hair of Campbell since their university days. 

They had collected all of Campbell's belongings from Dave Brown's place, and fruitlessly searched though, in the hope that something of use might come to light. Frieda Petrenko reported back to Bernie, that as they'd suspected, the computer they had taken from Serena's house contained nothing more than the dubious materials that Fletch had already discovered. Bernie had even received a report from Detective Constable Xavier Duval from Vice. None of the magazines she and Fletch had bestowed upon him the previous week had been illegal or even particularly out of the ordinary, apparently. 

Bernie found her thoughts returning to Serena, yet again. She had so far resisted contacting Serena, having nothing to offer in the way of information on the progress of the investigation. She had found herself missing Serena, which she tried to dismiss. How could she miss a person she barely knew and had only met a handful of times?

The weekend before, Jac and Frieda had interrogated Bernie thoroughly over dinner. Frieda had clearly taken note of Fletch’s interrupted comment about Bernie fancying Serena. They had been trying to encourage Bernie to look for love since the three of them had become friends. Jac looked Serena up online, and they became even more interested when they saw how attractive she was.

“Look at her, Wolfe. You should definitely go for it,” Jac exclaimed. “At least you know she’s single.”

“Poor taste, Professor. Very poor taste when you had her husband on your table only three days ago!” Bernie replied, with a snort of amusement.

“Jac is right though, Bernie. You can’t let a beautiful woman like that slip from between your fingers.”

“Frieda. Jac. I appreciate that your intentions are good, and that you want to see your single friends as happy as you are, but if nothing else, I have absolutely no reason to believe Serena is anything other than straight.”

“So? Go and earn yourself that toaster oven, Bernie,” laughed the Professor.

Frieda looked between Jac and Bernie as they both chuckled. 

“What is this toaster oven?” she asked.

Bernie and Jac then had to explain the joke, that a lesbian who successfully ‘recruits’ enough previously straight women, receives a toaster oven as a reward. This lead to the watching of Ellen clips on YouTube to help illustrate. 

“This makes me think even more that you need to make it clear to Serena that you are interested. Who doesn’t like free electrical goods?” She asked, with her customary deadpan delivery, followed by a wry smile.

Bernie was finally able to change the subject, after promising her friends that she would at least think about it. 

 

Suddenly, Bernie was startled out of her thoughts by the buzzing of her mobile on the desk beside her. It was Serena. 

“Talk of the devil,” she muttered. “Oh, who am I kidding?” It wasn’t as though Serena had been far from her thoughts from the moment Bernie had laid eyes on the newly widowed surgeon a week earlier.

“Serena, hello. I was just thinking about you.” 

Bernie instantly grimaced. Why the hell did I say that? she silently asked herself. 

“I'm afraid I have no news for you as yet, about the search for your husband's attacker. The investigation is still ongoing,” she hastily continued. 

“That's okay, Chief Inspector. I'm calling to let you know that some post has arrived for Edward. I wasn't sure if I should open them or not. I think there's a bank statement and a credit card bill. Plus there are a couple of rather anonymous manilla envelopes. I..I thought they might be useful, anyway…”

Serena trailed off, sounding hesitant. 

“I see. There could be something of interest there. Um, would it be okay with you if I come over and collect them at some point today? Whenever is most convenient for you, of course,” added Bernie, hastily. 

“I'm at home now, as it happens. You can collect the letters whenever you want, I'm not going out anywhere,”

“Right, thank you. I'll be there a little later this afternoon, if that's okay with you?”

“Yes, of course. I'll see you later, Ms Wolfe. Goodbye.” 

The line went dead, and Bernie slowly placed her phone on the desk. Serena had sounded somehow out of sorts. Not the fierce, angry Serena from the first day they'd met, nor the more vulnerable Serena from the second day. Bernie huffed in amusement, and she began giving herself a mental talking to. You’ve met this woman on three occasions over the space of two days. You don't know her, and once this case is finished with, one way or another, you'll in all likelihood never see her again. Stop obsessing. 

The thought that something was wrong wouldn't leave Bernie's mind, however. She found herself fidgeting and her mind wandering, and eventually, she threw her pen down in frustration. This was pointless. She stood, stuck her phone in her pocket and reached for her jacket. 

“Right, you horrible lot, I've got some errands to run, so I'll see you in the morning,” she called to her team. 

“I thought we were all going for a drink, Guv?” said Mo. 

“What? Oh yes, er, we'll have to do it another day I'm afraid. Something's come up.”

She could practically see the wheels turning in Fletch's head. When Bernie arranged a team drink or meal, it was almost unheard of for her to cancel. Unless it was a work crisis, generally meaning they would all be involved, Bernie felt that team bonding was too important. 

“I'll walk you down to your car, Boss.”

 

“So what's come up that's so important, Bernie?” Fletch asked, as they slowly walked down to the car park. 

Bernie momentarily considered pulling rank to shut Fletch down, but decided against it. He had been her right hand man since she'd been at Holby Central, and he knew her too well. It would only fire up his curiosity and his imagination would go into overdrive. She might as well just tell him. 

“Serena called. Some letters have arrived for Campbell, and she wasn't sure if they might be useful. I said I'd go over and have a look. There's been nothing else new come up, so who knows? We might get lucky, and there could be something amongst the post that will end up being a breakthrough.”

“I see.” Fletch smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Bernie. “Any excuse to see the lovely Serena, eh?” 

“Enough, Fletch. I had enough of all that from Jac and Frieda at the weekend. She's part of an ongoing case. We might have cleared her of possible involvement, but it would still be inappropriate. Yes, she was estranged from, and divorcing Campbell, and was far from in the throes of grief, but that doesn't give me a licence to make a pass. Seriously though, Fletch. Leave it, yeah? I admit, I think she's very attractive. There's no denying it, however, this isn't some dodgy cop show where the lead detective gets off with the guest star of the week half the time. This is real life. Besides, and as I said to them at the weekend, she's almost certainty heterosexual. If I did make a move, I suspect all it would do, would be to see me dragged up in front of Chief Superintendent Hanssen to face disciplinary action. Do you want me to lose my job? Want to see Charlie and I made homeless?” 

“Oh no, Boss, Charlie wouldn't be homeless. We'd take her in, don't worry.”

Bernie turned back towards Fletch, and put her hands on her hips.

"Huh! Bloody charming. You'd see me on the streets, and take her in, would you? After all I've done for you!” Bernie struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Well you know how it is, Guv. We love that cat.”


	11. Chapter 11

Bernie was halfway across town, heading to Serena's, before she realised she hadn't set the satnav. Apart from the journeys she did on a regular basis - work, and the Di Lucca/Fletcher and Naylor/Petrenko households, she _always_ used the satnav in Holby. She tried not to think too hard about the implications. She turned the radio on to Holby FM and tried to concentrate on the road. 

 

Twenty minutes later, Bernie pulled up in front of Serena’s impressive detached property, and found herself looking up at it with fresh eyes. The house which should have been a dream family home, but which was now just a reminder to Serena of what would never be. Bernie sighed, rummaged about in the glove compartment, and pulled out her nicotine spray. She had been true to her vow not to buy any more cigarettes, and had drastically cut down on her reliance on the spray. However, seeing Serena again, Bernie knew she would need a little chemical fortification and squirted a couple of doses of the foul stuff on her tongue. She opened the driver’s door, and unfolded herself from the seat of her MX5. 

As Bernie strode up the drive towards Serena’s glossy, red front door, she straightened her jacket, and smoothed her hair. She took a deep breath and raised her hand towards the bell, only for the door to swing open. Taken by surprise, she took an involuntary step backwards, and let out a slightly embarrassing squeaking noise. Thank goodness she hadn't brought Fletch along. There was no way he would have ever let her live it down, if he’d witnessed the usually unflappable Bernie Wolfe squee at the unexpected sight of Serena Campbell!

“Oh, Serena. You startled me!” Bernie hated how breathy she sounded. 

“Sorry, I er, I just happened to notice you arriving. Come on in Chief Inspector, come through to the kitchen,” Serena said, as she stepped back to let Bernie across the threshold. 

Following Serena along the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house, Bernie failed spectacularly in her attempt not to allow her eyes to drift downwards to the shapely behind ahead of her. Tried not to imagine how well it would fit into her palms if she was to pull Serena in for a kiss. She shook her head, trying to dispel her inappropriate thoughts. They stepped into a large room, warm with the afternoon sun, which came flooding through large windows.

“Would you like tea or coffee, Ms Wolfe? Sadly, it might be a little early for Shiraz, even for me.”

Bernie was looking around the kitchen, her mouth hanging open. 

“Ms Wolfe? Tea? Coffee?” Serena asked again. 

“Hmmm? Oh, coffee would be lovely, thank you. With a splash of milk, and no sugar, if that’s okay. I’m sorry, I was completely distracted by your kitchen. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

She continued to gaze around the room, taking in what looked to her like solid oak cabinets, the massive range cooker, and the huge, farmhouse style kitchen table. The room was so large that there was room for a huge, comfortable looking leather sofa. Fletch had mentioned that he had house envy, but Bernie was immediately struck with extreme kitchen envy.

“Ironic isn’t it? All this space and I almost never cook. The only things in here that really get a workout are the kettle, the toaster, the microwave and of course, the wine rack. I periodically go through a phase of being so determined that I’m going to get out of my rut of ready meals and takeaways. I take myself off to the supermarket and stock up on all the staples, which then sit in the cupboards until I begin to feel guilty and donate it all to my local food bank.”

Serena moved across to one of the cupboards beneath the counter top and opened its double doors. There was an array of packets, tins and cartons. Bags of pasta, flour and rice. Jars of herbs, spices and other seasonings. 

“As you can see, it’s nearly donation time,” Serena said, with a shrug, before closing the cupboard.

“I absolutely love cooking, but only have a tiny kitchen. I even have a shelving unit stuck out in my living room, to accommodate all the stuff I can’t fit in it. I would kill for a kitchen like this,” breathed Bernie. 

“Which is exactly what you thought _I_ had done, is it not, Ms Wolfe?”

Bernie could feel the flush rising up her neck, as she realised what she had said. She cast her eyes around the room, looking for a distraction. Her eyes landed on some envelopes, laying on the kitchen table.

“Erm, are those the letters that arrived for Edward?”

Serena looked at Bernie with one eyebrow raised, but accepted the clumsy change of subject without comment. She waved Bernie toward the table, and brought over two steaming mugs of coffee. Serena crossed back to the counter, and extracted a small paring knife from the block beside the cooker. She sat down and carefully slit open the envelopes, before handing them over. 

“What can I say? The surgeon in me likes a neat incision,” Serena said with a little laugh, when she noticed Bernie watching.

Bernie reached into the first envelope and pulled out a bank statement. She gave it a cursory glance, having already had the information from Campbell’s bank earlier in the week. He was constantly hovering at the limits of his overdraft and the main activity seemed to be minimum payments made to a couple of credit cards. She placed it to one side.

“Is it… is it okay if I have a look, Chief Inspector?” Serena asked.

“Of course it is, and please, call me Bernie.”

Bernie opened the next couple of pieces of post, which were both credit card statements. Again, she was already aware of the perilous state of Edward Campbell’s finances. He had two cards, both with high spending limits, both very close to being completely maxed out, and with only the minimum being paid off each month. There was also another, brand new card, that hadn’t shown up on his bank statement yet. It was one of those cards they offer to people with a poor credit rating, one with an exorbitantly high rate of interest. The team had speculated that he could well have taken it out after being thrown out by his wife and suddenly having to actually fend for himself. This card was also already almost right up to the spending limit, with the main expenditures being charges to a couple of takeaway delivery companies and various off licenses, pubs and bars. 

The final envelope proved that Serena had been correct in her speculation the week before, about Campbell’s car. It looked like the leasing company was seeking to immediately repossess the vehicle due to non payment. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem that any of this would help move the investigation forward in any way. Bernie looked up from the letter, to see Serena intently examining the various statements.

“Is something wrong, Serena?”

Serena closed her eyes and sighed. She then seemed to come to a decision. She squared her shoulders and stood.

“Can I show you something, Bernie?” 

“Of course.”

Bernie stood, and followed Serena towards a doorway at the end of the room, all the while knowing her brain would be replaying the sound of Serena’s velvety voice, saying ‘Bernie’, over and over. 

The door proved to lead to a utility room, and Serena pointed at several objects that sat on the counter. There were two bottles of wine, which Bernie recognised as a very cheap, white blend. A box of chocolates that looked like they came from a pound shop, and an incredibly tacky teddy bear. Again, it looked like it might have been purchased from a pound shop in the lead up to Valentine’s Day - with extremely flammable looking white faux fur, a bow around its neck, and holding a red heart with ‘Be Mine’ printed across it. 

“These were all left on the porch at various times over the last few days. Before that, there had been several bunches of flowers, none of them with a note or card with the identity of the sender.”

“When I dropped you off last week, I noticed there had been flowers left for you, and that you didn’t seem to welcome them,” commented Bernie.

“You saw that? Well, the thing is, I had assumed the flowers were from Edward. For a week or so after I gave him his marching orders, he came by every day or two, clutching a pathetic bunch of flowers, clearly bought from a petrol station forecourt or something similar. When the flowers began showing up on the doorstep, I just assumed he had upped his game, and moved on to more expensive bouquets. Even the one that you saw didn’t particularly set off any alarm bells.”

Bernie leant against the door jam, and crossed one foot over the other.

“He could easily have ordered them in advance from a florist, to be delivered.”

“Exactly that, Bernie, I wasn’t too bothered, and just binned the ugly things,” Serena waved her hand toward the items lined on the worktop. “Then these began to arrive. White wine? If Edward _had_ set something up before his death, even _he_ wouldn’t be stupid enough to choose white wine, and such a cheap white at that. Looking at the bank and card statements just now, I couldn’t see any florist charges at all. Nor anything like it came from those websites that sell flowers, gifts and chocolates, alongside the personalised greetings cards. I think the flowers must have come from the same person who has been leaving these things.”

“You should have called me sooner, Serena.”

“And said what? Someone has been giving me gifts? It’s hardly a crime, is it? You have enough on your plate, I’m sure. You didn’t need to hear me complaining about wine, tacky teddy bears and silent calls,” she retorted. 

“The calls have started again? Serena…” Bernie sighed.

“Oh shush. We knew it was likely to happen. It’s hardly difficult to get hold of a pay as you go SIM and stick it in a cheap phone, is it? Anyway, I wasn’t too bothered by any of it, not really, until today. I was on an early shift at the hospital, and when I came home at about 1.30, _that_ was waiting for me on the porch.”

Serena pointed to a cardboard wine box that was sitting at the far end of the counter. Bernie hadn’t paid it any attention, but now she straightened up and moved past Serena to take a look inside. 

“Christ!”

Bernie took a half step back, shocked at what was in the box. 

It was another cheap looking white teddy bear, holding a red heart. However, this was different from the one Bernie had already seen. This bear had ‘I Love You’ embroidered on its bright red heart. 

_It also had a large butcher’s knife thrust right into its chest._


	12. Chapter 12

“You found this at 1.30 this afternoon, and didn’t immediately call me? What on Earth were you thinking, Serena?”

Bernie looked again into the cardboard box containing the white teddy bear, pierced through with a butcher’s knife. She was an ex soldier and she was tough, bloody tough. However, the sight of this, which was, almost without doubt, a clear threat towards Serena, sent a cold shiver through her. She had always faced the thought of her own possible injury or death with a calm and clear mind. It was part and parcel of what she had signed up for, back when she had joined the armed services. It was the prospect of people she cared about being hurt that was something she had always had a problem with, and it was that which had ultimately helped seal her decision to leave the Army.

“I was thinking, Chief Inspector, that I was in no danger, and that you were undoubtedly busy.” Serena Campbell clearly did _not_ take well to being told off.

“Oh I’m sorry, Serena. It’s just that with the mysterious flowers and presents, the silent late night phone calls, and what was the other thing again? Oh yes, the _murdered husband_ , I thought you might have taken this a little more seriously!” 

Bernie turned away and ran an agitated hand through her hair. She closed her eyes, and silently counted to ten, before turning back towards Serena.

“Look, I apologise for my outburst, but I’m just worried about you, Serena. This looks very much like you have a stalker, and this seems like a clear escalation to me. I don’t want to be alarmist, but I do think we need to take this seriously. Why don’t we go back through into the other room and sit down?” Bernie was proud of herself for managing to get the words past the tightness in her throat and for sounding a hell of a lot calmer than she felt.

Serena glared defiantly at Bernie for a moment, before her expression softened and she nodded. She lead the way back into the kitchen, and sank down on to the soft leather sofa. Bernie retrieved their coffee mugs from the table, passed Serena hers, then sat at the other end of the settee.

“The thing is, Serena, right from the beginning of this thing, I’ve had my suspicions that Edward’s death might not have been a random act of violence. Everything you’ve shown me today feels as though it could reinforce that. I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but I do think you need to take this seriously.”

Bernie ground to a halt and concentrated on drinking her rapidly cooling coffee.

“I don’t understand. Why would someone deliberately kill Edward because of me? We were no longer together, so what would be the point?”

“This is all pure speculation, but to me this looks like someone who’s developed an obsession with you. Can you think of anyone who has been paying you too much attention or acting oddly toward you recently? Friends? Coworkers? Patients, even?” 

Serena snorted, inelegantly. 

“Friends? I'm not sure I have any of those left. Too many years of being too busy for a social life, between training, studying, working, the house… Edward managed to ruin a fair few friendships. Too many nights out and dinners parties degenerating into drunken scenes put paid to the invitations. Coworkers, well… I never foster those kinds of relationships with my colleagues. I keep things on a professional level with everyone at the hospital. Besides, everyone I work with knows I'm married… was married… and certainly no one has been crass enough to express any kind of interest since the split,” Serena paused to drink her coffee, grimacing when she realised it was almost cold. 

Bernie thought about the information which her team had reported back from the hospital colleagues they had spoken to at Holby City. It seemed to her that Serena didn't realise how well loved she was amongst the people around her at work. She made a mental note to talk to Mo, Nicky and Jasmine to see if anyone they had talked to had shown anything approaching a romantic interest in Serena. 

“And patients?” 

“Of course not. There are the occasional drunks who try and cop a feel, of course. The usual kind of sexist crap most women experience. Oh, there _was_ Glyn Hughes,” Serena gave a throaty little chuckle. 

“Glyn Hughes?” Bernie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the effect Serena's husky laugh had on her. 

“It was nothing, really. A patient, the _Reverend_ Glyn Hughes, no less, decided he had fallen desperately in love with me. It turned out to be a neurological problem of course, so he was moved off to a different department. Not before he produced a portrait of me on the hospital Chapel wall,” Serena paused, and a delicate blush bloomed on her cheeks. “It was a rather flattering _nude_ portrait.”

Bernie’s imagination immediately went into overdrive, and she feared she could feel a matching blush creeping up her own face and neck. She cleared her throat, reached into her jacket and pulled out her notebook.

“Reverend Glyn Hughes. Okay, I’ll get him checked out.”

“Oh Bernie, don’t be silly. That was two or three years ago at least. The poor man was ill and I didn’t lay eyes on him again, once he’d been moved up to Neuro. Besides that, how on Earth would he know where I live? I don’t even think anyone I work with knows where I live, for that matter, ” Serena said, as she stood and retrieved the empty mug that Bernie had balanced on her knee. 

Bernie refrained from commenting on Serena's naivety. She had no doubt that anyone Serena worked with could find her home address without too much difficulty. She had been living there for years, so old friends would know where she lived. Okay, a patient would find it a little harder to track Serena down, but Bernie didn't plan on taking any chances. She would have to find out all there was to know about the Reverend Glyn Hughes. That was a job for the next day however. Right now there were more immediate things to take care of. She pulled out her phone, checked the time and scrolled through her contacts.

“Petrenko. I need a favour.”

_“I’m just leaving the lab now, Bernie, what do you need?”_

“Exclusion prints and DNA taken, and some evidence collected. I’m in my own car, so I don’t even have gloves or evidence bags to hand.”

_“Why didn’t you use the lab number? Valentine is on duty, he would have answered.”_

“I don’t want whoever is on duty, I want you to do it. Please, Frieda?”

_“Anyone can do prints, DNA and evidence collection. Jac is cooking tonight, and you know she will not appreciate it if I am late home.”_

“It's a quick and easy evidence bag, swab and print set. It won’t take you long, Frieda. Look, as soon as we hang up, I’ll even call Jac and throw myself on her mercy. I'll take the flack, and make sure she knows I'll make it up to her. Oh, I know, why don’t you both come over to mine this weekend and I’ll cook. I’ll even make creme brûlée and lemon meringue pie for you both. Deal?”

_“Alright, alright, I give in. Where are you, and what type of evidence is it?”_

“Wine bottles, chocolates, teddy bears and a knife. It looks very much like someone is stalking Serena Campbell and I’m worried it’s connected to her husband’s murder. It’s over in Holby Village. I’ll text you the address.”

_“You’re at Serena’s? Why didn’t you say? It will be worth it, just to be able to watch you making the eyes at her. You’re still cooking at the weekend though. And telling Jac I’m going to be late.”_

“Thank you, Frieda. You’re the best. I’ll ring Jac as soon as I’ve sent you the address. See you soon.”

Bernie hung up and immediately texted Frieda the details she needed. She looked over at Serena.

“Our head of forensic science, Frieda Petrenko, is going to come over and take the stuff away for forensic testing. I’m also going to have her take prints and a DNA swab from you, for exclusion purposes, if that's okay with you. Unfortunately every man and his dog watches police dramas on TV these days and fancies themselves a CSI expert, so the chances are he’ll have worn gloves. It’s worth a try though.”

Serena just nodded, and silently looked on as Bernie scrolled again through the contacts in her phone.

“Professor.”

_“You’re lucky I’m doing pasta tonight, Wolfe, so nothing will be ruined.”_

“Ah, Frieda’s already told you.”

_“She has. It had better be the best bloody lemon meringue pie you’ve ever made.”_

“I’ll even make the pastry from scratch, rather than using ready made. And you can take the leftovers home with you.”

_“Acceptable.”_

Jac hung up without another word, but Bernie knew Frieda and herself were forgiven for throwing off Jac’s schedule. Just. She also knew she was in for a solid evening of nagging and interference from her friends, regarding Serena. 

 

“It seems a little silly to call in a favour for something like this. If it's such a quick and simple thing, why are you bothering to bribe Frieda to do it?” Serena asked. 

“I want the best on this, and Frieda _is_ the best. Besides, they'll both realise soon enough, that it was my turn to cook anyway. Jac, Frieda, and I take it in turns. The only thing is, in promising Jac the leftover pie, I'll have to make a second one for Fletch. If he gets wind that I've baked, and there's nothing for him and the kids, I'll never hear the last of it!” 

“You seem to have a good relationship with the people you work with. It's not something I've ever really developed. Besides the odd team meal, I don't really see people outside of work.”

Bernie's heart clenched at how lonely Serena sounded. 

“They're a great group, on the whole. For the main part, I have a very good team around me. I'm also really lucky to have Jac Naylor and Frieda Petrenko, both professionally, and as friends. They're both about the best in their fields and Holby is very lucky to have them.”

 

Silence descended between them, as they sat at the kitchen table, fresh coffee in front of them, and awaited Freida Petrenko’s arrival.


	13. Chapter 13

The doorbell pealed out suddenly, startling them both. Serena went to stand, but Bernie reached out, placing her hand over Serena’s. She was momentarily distracted by the cool, silky smooth skin of the back of Serena’s hand, before clearing her throat, with an awkward little cough.

“I’ll go Serena, don’t worry. Frieda must have really put her foot down to get here so fast.”

Bernie rose from the table and made her way down the hall to the front door. She opened the door to find Frieda, laptop bag hanging from her shoulder, her large, metal case in one hand, and an empty plastic crate dangling from the other. 

“That was bloody quick,” said Bernie, in lieu of a greeting.

“I know shortcuts. And where the speed cameras are,” Frieda peered around Bernie. “Where is she? I was looking forward to seeing her in person.”

“She’s in the kitchen. Look, you will behave yourself, won’t you, Frieda? No matchmaking, no not-so subtle comments about my single status, and _definitely_ none about Serena’s. Please?” Bernie hated the slightly whiny tone she could hear in her own voice, but she needed to be taken seriously. 

“What do you take me for, Detective Chief Inspector Wolfe? I am a professional, here to do my job.”

As usual, Frieda Petrenko’s deadpan delivery made it hard to read her. Bernie just had to be satisfied that the forensic specialist wouldn’t embarrass her. She stepped back, allowed Frieda to come inside, and closed the door behind her. She relieved the other woman of her case, to help ease her burden a little, and indicated that Frieda should follow. 

To Serena’s credit, there was merely a momentary widening of her eyes, when she saw the vision that was Frieda Petrenko, in skin tight, shiny black trousers, high-necked black, ruffled blouse and leather corset combo, finished off with leather and chrome wrist cuffs. Plus, of course, the trademark dramatic makeup and her usual tightly plaited hair.

“Serena, this is Frieda Petrenko, head of Holby’s forensic sciences division. Frieda, this is Serena Campbell,” introduced Bernie. She had fallen back on formalities, in the hope it would help set the tone. Frieda Petrenko was indeed a professional, but she also had a mischievous streak a mile wide. 

“Ms Campbell, I’m sorry for your loss,” offered Frieda, unhooking the laptop bag from her shoulder and placing it on the table, before shifting the plastic box to her left hand and holding her right out to shake.

“Please, call me Serena, and it’s no great loss, believe me. I appreciate you delaying your evening meal to come and take care of this. I do hope Ms Wolfe’s cooking will prove sufficient compensation.” 

The side of Frieda’s mouth twitched in a tiny quirk of amusement. 

“It was her turn to cook, so she isn’t sacrificing much. She does make the best creme brûlée I have ever tasted, however, so it should be worth it. Bernie, where is the evidence to be collected? There’s only so far a lemon meringue pie will take you in appeasing Jac, you know, so I had better get on with it.”

Bernie took her through to the utility room and indicated the items on the countertop.

“It’s the wine, chocolates, and the teddy, plus the contents of the cardboard box.”

Frieda took in the lineup of things in front of her.

“I hope you find this person, Wolfe. The quality of that wine alone deserves imprisonment.” 

Bernie heard a snort of laughter behind her, and realised Serena had followed them into the utility room.

“My case please, Chief Inspector?”

Bernie hefted the heavy case up on to the work surface, then stood back to give Frieda space to work. 

“You are the only person to have touched these things, Serena?” asked Frieda, taking a stack of evidence bags from the case.

“Yes, just me. I picked them up off the porch and brought them straight through here. I wasn’t that bothered by it all, until that thing was left today.” Serena pointed at the cardboard box at the end of the worktop. “I suppose I thought I might take the wine and chocolates to the food bank. I shouldn’t have put that in a box, should I? I realise I’ve probably contaminated the evidence, but I just hated looking at it.”

Bernie could hear a slight wobble in Serena’s voice. She wasn’t as tough as she liked to make out, clearly. Without thinking about it, Bernie put a comforting arm around Serena’s shoulders until she realised what she’d done, and stepped away self-consciously. 

“We’ll get it away from you as soon as possible, Serena. Try not to worry.” 

They watched Frieda at work, efficiently labelling up the individual bags, before placing the various things inside and sealing them. When she reached the cardboard box and its contents, she looked at Bernie, with a raised eyebrow.

“I know,” Bernie said, grimly. 

Frieda placed the whole thing, box and all, into a large evidence bag and sealed it, before putting everything into the plastic crate to transport back to the lab. They trooped back into the kitchen, to sit at the table. While the laptop and LiveScan fingerprint machine booted up, Frieda pulled out a swab, to take a sample of Serena’s DNA. She told Serena that there was a chance that whoever had left the things for her to find might not have thought about DNA transfer on the fur of the teddy bears.

“He will in all likelihood have worn gloves to touch things like glass, or the plastic shrink wrap of the chocolate, but the fur wouldn’t hold prints, of course, so he might have been careless,” she explained.

“I thought giving your fingerprints was all ink pads and paper. I must have been watching too many old police programmes,” Serena said, when she realised what the LiveScan machine was. 

“We have become a little more sophisticated than paper and ink these days.”

Once the exclusionary samples had been taken, and everything packed away, the trio made their way to the front door. Serena thanked Frieda once again for coming so late and they shook hands. Bernie helped her load her kit back into the boot of her car and waved her off. 

“Will you be okay, Serena? Is there no one you can call to be with you? I’m not sure I like the idea of you being alone.”

Bernie shoved her hands in her pockets, aware that she had been about to reach out again, to the other woman. Serena just shrugged.

“I’ll be perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry,” she said, with a sigh.

“You've been through so much recently, and sometimes it just helps to talk about things, promise you’ll call if you need to? If you’re at all worried or even… even if you just need to talk. Please?” Bernie pleaded.

“If it’ll put your mind at rest, I promise.”

Before Bernie realised quite what was happening, Serena pulled her into a quick, impulsive hug. Her arms instinctively wrapped around the other woman for a few moments, before they drew apart. 

“Goodnight, Bernie.”

“Night, Serena. Take care.”

 

Bernie walked slowly down the drive, fighting her instinct to look back. She folded herself into the driver’s seat, and finally allowed herself to glance at the house. Serena was still standing in the doorway, the light from the hall spilling out, bathing her in a halo of warmth. Bernie lifted a hand in farewell, just in case Serena could see her in the evening dusk, before she started the engine and slowly pulled out of her parking space.

It only took until she reached the end of the road, before she reached a decision.

“Fuck it!”

She turned left, then left and left again. This time she parked, facing the other way, across the road. She had a perfect vantage point to watch the drive and front door. Bernie unbuckled her seatbelt, and slouched down into a more comfortable position. It was going to be a long evening…

***

Bernie jumped as her phone rang. Her eyes had been trained on the glossy red front door across the road, but her mind had been thoroughly occupied, imagining just what Serena might be doing. She grabbed her mobile from the seat next to her, and squinted at the brightly lit screen, dazzling in the evening gloom. Serena! Bernie almost dropped it, in her haste to swipe to answer.

“Serena! What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

_“I'm just a bit worried.”_

“That's completely understandable, with everything that's going on. Is there anything I can do to help?”

_“There is, actually. You can help me decide on tonight's takeaway. You can also come indoors, so I can stop worrying about you getting cold!”_

Bernie looked over at the house, to see Serena standing in the big bay window of her living room, phone pressed to her ear. 

“Ah, you er, you noticed me out here.”

_“Of course. Your sporty little number does stand out rather, amongst all the Chelsea tractors. Come on, before the local curtain twitchers notice you, and call the police about the suspicious person lurking in the neighbourhood.”_

The line went dead. Serena was clearly used to having her instructions obeyed without question. Bernie tapped her phone against her chin. Should she go in and have dinner with Serena? Was it wise? Her phone buzzed in her hand. 

**Hurry up please, Ms Wolfe. I'm hungry.**

Bernie huffed in amusement. Serena Campbell had spoken. She climbed out of the car, thought for a few moments, before grabbing a few things from the boot. Wise idea or not, it looked like she was having dinner with Serena.


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Bernie reached the front door, Serena was waiting for her, backlit by the warm light from the hall. She looked down at the contents of Bernie’s arms.

“Is that standard police issue at the Holby Metropolitan Police, DCI Wolfe?”

Bernie blushed, and clutched her armful a little tighter.

“I..I just thought you might like a change from takeaway. You don’t… I mean, I can put these back if you’d…”

“No, no. Don’t be silly, it’s a lovely idea. Go on through,” Serena said as she ushered Bernie indoors.

“So, do you usually have half a produce department in your car, Bernie?” she asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“Ha! No, there’s a great greengrocers just round the corner from the nick, and I nipped out during my lunch break. I prefer to buy from smaller retailers when I can. Doing my part to help keep the High Street alive, and all that.”

“Do you really call it ‘the nick’? That’s not just on The Bill or whatever?”

“Well I don’t know about in general, but Fletch does, and I’ve caught the habit from him, I suppose. Is it okay to have a look in your cupboards? I know I saw pasta in there earlier, and I’m hoping there’s also something I can use to make a sauce.”

Serena waved her hand in an all encompassing, sweeping gesture.

“Help yourself to absolutely anything you need. Can I get you a glass of wine?” She pointed at the open bottle of Shiraz that was on the kitchen table.

“Oh none for me thanks, I have to drive home later and I never touch alcohol if I have to get behind the wheel. I will take a splash to go in the sauce though, in a while.”

Bernie was digging through the cupboard, pulling out pasta, olive oil, Italian sieved tomatoes and a couple of jars of herbs. It would hardly be an authentic sauce, but it should be tasty enough. Next, she located the pans, and took out a large saucepan and a sauté pan. She turned to see Serena taking a chopping board from a drawer, and smiled at her.

“For someone who never cooks, you certainly have good kit. You must have spent a fortune,” she observed.

“I always had this vision of me becoming something of a Nigella-esque domestic goddess, and equipped the kitchen accordingly. It has yet to happen,” Serena said, wryly.

Glass of wine in hand, Serena propped a hip against the counter, and watched Bernie begin to prepare dinner. She was amazed by the precision with which Bernie finely diced onions and carrots, and minced garlic.

“With knife skills like that, Bernie, I reckon you could have made a fine surgeon,” she laughed.

“Possibly, but I think I was always destined to go into the family firm. The Army is in the Wolfe blood. Except my brothers rebelled slightly, one joined the Navy, and the other is a Marine. They kept it military though, so my dad wasn’t too bothered.”

“Both my parents were accountants, so I’m not sure where my desire to become a doctor came from. They were always completely supportive of my ambitions though. I didn’t realise you had been in the Army. If it’s the ‘family firm’, was there disappointment when you left?”

Bernie slowly stirred the fragrant mix of onion, garlic and carrot that was gently sautéing in the pan, before returning to the chopping board and reaching for a red pepper. 

“I was in the Royal Military Police for twelve years, before leaving to join Holby Met. Major Berenice Wolfe, at your service, ma’am! And no, my parents understood and respected my reasons for leaving,” she added in a quiet voice.

Serena seemed to realise it wasn’t a topic Bernie wanted to discuss any further. She crossed to the cooker, picked up the wooden spatula, and began to poke at the contents of the pan. Bernie added the peppers and the carton of sieved tomatoes, followed by herbs and seasonings and finally, a generous glug of red wine. Serena cleared her throat after a few minutes of silence.

“So, Berenice is an unusual name. I don’t think I’ve come across it before,” she ventured.

Bernie smiled, grateful for the subject change.

“It’s Ancient Greek and means victory. My dad has always been a bit of an amateur Greek scholar. I can’t remember the amount of times I asked my parents why I couldn’t have been a Helen or a Penelope or something, if they really had to go down the Greek route. My older brother is Hector and little brother got off lightly, and is called Damon. Damon was really lucky actually, he got the relatively normal middle name too. Mum is a huge opera buff, and Hec is actually Hector Don Giovanni, believe it or not. Damon got away with Tristan. Hec is Navy, he’s a submarine commander, and Damon is a Marine commando. One way or another, we rarely know where either of them is in the world.”

“Uh-uh, come on now, Bernie. Hector Don Giovanni, Damon Tristan and Berenice… what?”

Bernie sighed. 

“Griselda. It’s Berenice Griselda. I went through my entire high school career being called BeeGee and having ‘Staying Alive’ sung at me.”

The husky peal of laughter that burst out of Serena was about the sexiest sound Bernie had ever heard. To distract herself, she picked up the large pan and went to the sink to fill it with water to cook the pasta.

“My middle name is Wendy. I don’t know, maybe one or other of my parents was a fan of Peter Pan? I never asked. There were a lot of things I never got around to asking. Well, you don’t expect to lose both your parents at the age of twenty seven, do you? Your parents… are they still…?” she trailed off.

“Oh yes, mine are still very much alive and kicking. They moved to rural Devon when dad retired. I thought it would drive them both mad, dad in particular, but they love it. Mum is devoted to her garden, and the Brigadier has discovered a passion for keeping chickens. The last time I was down there for a visit, dad did his utmost to persuade me to take a couple of chicks home. To my first floor, one bedroom flat. I told him, Charlie would probably have great fun with them, but it wasn’t going to happen.”

The water for the pasta had just come to the boil, so Bernie tore open the bag of penne and added the pasta to the pot, using her precision measuring method - about two handsful per person. 

“Charlie? That’s.. that’s your partner?” Serena asked.

“Charlie is my cat,” Bernie laughed. “I’m terminally single, I’m afraid, so nope, no partner.”

She took out her phone, and like any modern day pet owner, proceeded to show Serena photo after photo of her beloved cat. 

“Who are the children scattered amongst the pictures of Charlie?”

“Ah, the terrible tribe. That’s Fletch’s four kids. When he decided he needed to become my mother hen, I became honorary aunt to them all. And godmother to the youngest, too. I tried to tell Fletch that I’m a complete heathen and in no way fit to be anyone’s spiritual guardian, but he insisted. Can you grab out a couple of bowls or plates or whatever, while I drain the pasta, please?” 

There was a flurry of draining and dishing up, until finally Serena and Bernie were sitting, with steaming bowls of food in front of them.

“Oh wow, this looks and smells amazing, Bernie. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal. Thank you so much,” Serena said, before she blew on her first forkful of food to cool it, and popped it in her mouth.

The sound of pleasure Serena made at that first mouthful would stay with Bernie for a long time, she knew. She just ducked her head down, and concentrated on her meal.

“So, you and Fletch are very close then. And Ms Petrenko and, Jac, was it? That must be nice,” said Serena, a distinctively wistful note in her voice.

“I wasn’t given much choice, in all honesty. Fletch decided from day one that I was going to be part of the family. He still remains convinced, after all this time, that I don’t take proper care of myself and insists on regularly taking me home with him, so he can feed me.”

No matter what the words were, there was no mistaking the affection in her voice. It was clear that Bernie Wolfe loved being an honorary member of Adrian Fletcher’s family. 

“Jac Naylor and I met at an awards event a couple of years ago, soon after she and Frieda moved to Holby. Jac decided we would be friends, and that was that. If you ever meet Jac, you’ll understand. She’s rather forceful. I had been so determined that I wasn’t going to mix my professional life and my personal life, but it just didn’t work out that way. Having said that, I don’t think the team know how close Fletch and I are, and none of them know I’m friends with Naylor and Petrenko. Even Fletch didn’t know about that until a week or so ago!” 

Bernie scooped up her last couple of quills of pasta and dragged them around the bowl, chasing the last of the sauce. In spite of all the talking, Bernie had hoovered up her pasta twice as fast as Serena, who was still savouring her meal.

“Do you really not see any of your workmates outside of the hospital? Not even for the occasional Friday evening drink? I go out for drinks and meals with my lot fairly regularly, often as a bribe for staying late, I’ll admit.”

Bernie rested her chin on her hand and gazed across the table at the brunette. 

“I show my face at the odd birthday drink in Albies, on occasion. I don’t know, I feel awkward at those kinds of things. No one wants their boss there, do they? They’ll all want to get drunk and slag off the management. Can’t do that with the clinical lead of your ward stood there.” 

Bernie thought back to what she had been told by Mo, Jasmine and Nicky, about how Serena’s colleagues viewed her. Did she really have no idea how loved she was?

“I think you’d be surprised, Serena. Very pleasantly surprised.”

***

It was just before midnight when Bernie drove home, through the quiet, night time streets of Holby. She let herself into her flat, to be met at the door by a soft chirrup of greeting from Charlie. The compact black cat wound around Bernie’s legs as she tried to walk through to the kitchen without tripping over the furry body and breaking her neck. As she retrieved a clean dish from the cupboard, she talked softly to her pet.

“Sorry I’m so late home, Charlie Farley. I ended up having dinner with Serena. Yes, I know, the same Serena that I’m meant to be keeping at a professional distance.”

Bernie ripped open a pouch of food, and squeezed out the gravy and mystery meat onto the plate. She put the food on Charlie’s placemat, then leant against the kitchen counter and watched the glossy, black cat tuck in.

“I didn’t plan it, believe me. I just wanted to keep an eye on the house, at a distance. It was Serena who insisted I come inside. Well yes, I didn’t _have_ to cook for her. I could have had a couple of slices of pizza or a bit of chow mein, then come home. No, I don’t know why I cooked. The thought of her constantly living off junk, maybe? No I _wasn’t_ showing off. Cheeky.”

A huge yawn suddenly overtook Bernie and she wearily straightened up.

“I’m knackered. I’d better get some sleep, because in the morning I’m going to be lighting a rocket up the arse of this investigation. Don’t stay up too late, and try not to wake me when you come to bed!”


	15. Chapter 15

“Okay you horrible lot, settle down please.” 

Bernie started the morning briefing in her customary fashion. She waited for her team to quieten, open their notebooks, grab their pens and turn their attention towards her. Bernie was tired, and took those moments to gather her thoughts. Sleep hadn’t come easily the night before; her mind had been full of a combination of worry about Serena and replaying their meal together. Her imagination had insisted on focusing on the domesticity of the evening, and projected dreams of them living happily ever after together, during the little sleep she _did_ manage to achieve. 

“There has been a development in the Campbell case,” she began.

That got everyone’s attention and they sat up a little straighter in their seats. Bernie’s team were a dedicated lot, and had an excellent success rate. The Campbell murder and the lack of progress in the case had been frustrating for them all. 

“Serena called me yesterday to let me know some mail had arrived for Campbell, and she thought it might be useful or significant. We’ve been clutching at straws this week, so I went over to take a look. It turned out to be mainly things we’ve already seen when checking out his financials, although one letter did confirm his car would have been repossessed, if it wasn’t currently still sitting in the evidence garage. It wasn’t a completely wasted journey, however. Serena showed me some… _gifts_ that had been arriving for her over the previous few days.”

Bernie paused and handed out prints of photos she had taken of the wine, the chocolates and the first teddy bear. 

“Fletch, remember the flowers in Serena’s bin? Well, they were only the beginning. Things have moved on from flowers to this little lot,” Bernie said, pointing at the pictures.

“I don’t see why someone leaving nice little presents should be connected to Edward Campbell’s death,” Robbie Medcalf snorted.

“Nice? Toffifee is a quid a go from the pound shop, and even _I_ wouldn’t touch that vinegar masquerading as wine, and I’ll drink almost anything!” chuckled Nicky.

The rest of the team laughed, while Robbie just flushed beetroot red and scowled across the table at DC McKendrick. Both Nicky and Jasmine were notorious within the team for their occasional drunken antics. 

“This is true. I’ve seen her drink Strongbow, for heaven's sake!” piped up Jasmine.

Bernie smiled. She was well known for her hatred of Strongbow cider. She had been presented with a pint of the stuff by Nicky, when she was new to the team and didn’t know any better. Bernie had stated, in no uncertain terms, that ‘you might as well drink a glass of chilled piss!’ 

“I’m not sure I can see how it’s connected though, Guv. The quality of the items aside,” said Fletch.

Bernie slid copies of the photo of the final ‘gift’ from her folder, and silently passed then to her colleagues. Everyone was quiet as they took in the sight of the teddy bear pierced through by a kitchen knife. 

“That arrived yesterday. It seems to me that someone is obsessed with Serena Campbell. Her husband is murdered, with an attempt to make it look like a mugging gone wrong, and in the days leading up to it, Serena begins to receive mystery bunches of flowers. We can tell from Campbell’s bank and credit card statements, that they weren’t from him. Those flowers were expensive, and his finances were a disaster. Serena told me that Campbell _did_ come round a couple of times, trying to win her over with flowers, but they were cheap, petrol station type bunches. Not elaborate and expensive bouquets from a florist.”

“Do we have any pics of the flowers, Guv? We could do the rounds of the local florists, see if anyone recognises their handiwork, if so.”

“I’m afraid not, Mo. The last bunch that arrived was the one I saw Serena chuck in the bin, on the day we began investigating the murder. We didn’t know the significance of it then, of course. Serena wasn’t too worried by any of it until today. She had assumed Campbell had sent the flowers, that he was upping his game in his attempt to get his feet back under her table. I think the other stuff began to make her a little nervous, obviously, as none of them could have been from him. When she looked at the financial paperwork that had arrived, it made it clear that even the flowers hadn’t been from him and that’s when she showed the things to me. I called Frieda Petrenko over and she took everything to the lab for testing.”

“It looks like the stalker is running out of money. Moving from pricey flowers to pound shop sweeties, crap wine and cheap soft toys. I bet he didn’t get much cash from nicking Campbell’s wallet either,” said Fletch.

“Maybe things will pick up again, after he gets paid at the end of the month,” giggled Jas.

“Come on team, settle down. Let’s take things a little more seriously, please. This is a clear escalation. I don’t believe in coincidences, and as far as I’m concerned, this is almost certainly the murderer of Edward Campbell stalking Serena. This is clearly some kind of twisted attempt to woo her, and hopefully, it will help lead us to him. Mo and Jasmine, I want you both to go back to the hospital. Talk again to Serena’s colleagues. This time I want you to be asking about anyone who has been showing an interest in her. Anyone asking questions or hanging around, and I mean other hospital staff, patients and their visitors. Robbie, I want you to go back over everything we have here. Statements, forensics, CCTV. The lot. I want to make sure we haven’t missed anything that could point at this stalker. Nicky, I want you to see if you can track down where the things are sold, and potentially, who bought them. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”

“I don’t think it’s worth even trying with the Toffifee, Boss. They’re sold in pretty much every pound shop, discount store and most of the major supermarkets as well,” Nicky stated.

“Fair enough, concentrate on the other stuff first then. Fletch and I are going to do a house to house of Serena’s neighbours to see if anyone has spotted anything useful. From what Serena has told me about her neighbourhood, they’re the stuck up type, who would respond better to a senior police officer.”

Bernie looked at her watch. 

“Back here for a briefing at four o’clock, please. Okay, let’s get to work.”

** 

Four o’clock saw all of Bernie’s team, bar Robbie Medcalf, gathered around the table talking quietly and checking through their notes. Bernie looked at her watch, and glanced over at Medcalf’s empty desk.

“Where the hell is he? Any of you know where Robbie has got to?”

Before anyone could answer, in sauntered the man in question, mug in hand. Bernie was a pretty easy going boss in most respects, but it was well known that if she said a meeting or briefing began at four o’clock, you’d better be there, ready to go by four on the dot, or have a very good excuse. Medcalf offered no excuse, and just took his place at the table and sipped his drink. Bernie’s jaw clenched, holding in the sarcastic comment that was on the tip of her tongue. She settled for scribbling a little note to remind herself to chase Hanssen about her request to transfer Robbie off her team. 

“Okay, let’s get started, shall we? Robbie, you’ve been re-examining our evidence so far. Had anything stood out as being worth another follow up, or looking at from a different angle?” Bernie was pleased that she managed to keep her dislike for Robbie Medcalf out of her voice.

“Nope. Complete waste of my day, just as I thought it would be. It’s not like anything hasn’t been checked over, time and time again,” he snorted.

Bernie clenched her teeth, slowly counted to ten and took a deep breath. She had a suspicion that in reality, Medcalf had spent the day doing fuck all. She was half tempted to take Nicky aside after the meeting was over and ask what she had seen him doing, but it was poor form to ask a junior officer to tell tales like that. Bernie opted to ignore his snide comments and move on.

“Nicky, did you have any joy with tracing the stuff left at Serena’s?”

“The wine was fairly easy to source, Guv, thanks to the label. Unfortunately it’s sold through the largest chain of convenience stores in the country, as well as one of the big four supermarkets, not to mention any number of independent convenience shops. It will take a while for the shops in the Holby area to get back to me with sales data and then try and track the individual sales. I hope to have more for you tomorrow, if that’s okay?” 

Bernie smiled at Nicky. The young Detective Constable was eager and Bernie had an idea she would go far in the Police, with the correct support and encouragement. 

“Of course, Nicky. What else do you have for me?”

Nicky McKendrick’s face dropped a little, and she looked nervous.

“Umm… Well I didn’t really know where to start with the teddy bear. I didn’t even have a brand to use to help me start a search. So, I called Ms Petrenko to see if she could help.”

Before Nicky could carry on, Robbie rudely interrupted. 

“Huh, palming your work off on others now, eh McKendrick?” he said with a sneer.

“That’s _enough_ Sergeant Medcalf! I’ve had enough of your snotty comments for one day. Just go. You clearly have nothing productive to add to this briefing. You couldn’t even be bothered to turn up on time. Go home now, and I sincerely hope you come in tomorrow with a better attitude.”

There was silence around the table, as they watched a sulky Robbie Medcalf gather his things to leave. Jasmine snorted out a stifled laugh at his aborted attempt to slam the office door, which was fitted with a door closure mechanism. They all watched in amusement, as it closed slowly and gently behind him.

Bernie sighed and shook her head, before turning back to Nicky.

“Unhelpful comments aside, you did the right thing, and you used your initiative. If you can’t see how to make progress, you ask for help from people who will hopefully be able to point you in the right direction.”

“Thank you, Boss. Er, well I know forensic sciences have access to various databases for tyres and shoes and whatever. While I didn’t think they’d have a teddy database, I hoped Ms Petrenko, or one of her team could give me an idea of where to begin. She told me she would put one of her people on to investigating the origins of both of them. They both have a manufacturer’s label apparently, which will help. She also said she’ll be emailing you some results this afternoon,” she ground to a halt, and primly folded her hands on the table in front of her, to indicate she was finished.

“Excellent, thank you Nicky. Mo?”

Mo flicked back through a couple of pages in her notebook.

“Right, well we managed to speak to quite a few people. We managed to time things right to hit some shift changes, which was great. None of the doctors on Serena’s ward were much help, but the nurses were. I think they spend more time with the patients because they do all the regular testing stuff. Blood pressure, temperature and all that business. Nurse um.. nurse Lou Morley vaguely remembered a patient who seemed to be asking an unusual number of questions about Serena. This was around eight weeks ago. When Donna Jackson was reminded by Lou, she thought she also remembered him. They couldn’t recall a name or even what he was admitted for, unfortunately. It’s a busy ward, with a high patient turnover.”

“I also spoke to the porters, as they’re always in and out of the ward. There was one, Jason Haynes, who said he remembered a male patient who he felt was staring at Ms Campbell,” chimed in Jasmine. “He really likes Serena because she’s always nice to him. Jason has Asperger’s and she lets him sit in her office when things become too overwhelming, or if he’s upset and he needs a quiet space.” Jasmine paused for breath and beamed at Bernie.

“I’ve arranged for the three of them to come in and sit down with an e-fit tech, to try and get some images of the mystery man. It’s a random patient from two months ago, which probably won’t make for a very accurate e-fit, but it’s better than nothing, eh Guv?” asked Mo.

“Absolutely, Mo. Great work the pair of you. Thanks. Now Fletch and I didn’t have a particularly productive day’s work. We managed to talk to several of Serena’s neighbours and she was right about them being a bunch of stuck up curtain twitchers, that’s for sure. There were comments about some of Campbell’s drunken antics, and about how many takeaways Serena has delivered. There was also plenty said about Campbell kicking off when he discovered he’d been thrown out and the locks had been changed. Unfortunately, no one has noticed a single instance of things being left in the porch. The chances are, if anyone did see something, they’ll have dismissed it as a delivery of some sort, and instantly forgotten it,” sighed Bernie.

“It was definitely the right thing to do, having the Guv’nor there. I don’t think I’ve had so many people look down their noses at me in a single day when they’ve discovered I’m a ‘mere sergeant’. We also looked into the background of a patient of Serena’s from several years ago, that she told the boss about. Glyn Hughes apparently declared his love for Serena within a few hours of being admitted to her ward. He was diagnosed with a serious neurological condition, which has since deteriorated, and the poor bloke is now in a care home. He certainly hasn’t been leaving prezzies on doorsteps, never mind stabbing estranged husbands,” Fletch concluded.

Bernie closed her folder and looked around the table at her team.

“I think we now mainly have to hope that there will be some useful forensic traces found on the items left at Serena’s. Unless our three from the hospital have an amazing memory for faces, I can’t see the e-fit getting us very far.” Bernie ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Let’s call it a day, folks. Back here at eight tomorrow morning, and we’ll see where we stand. Have a good evening, you horrible lot.”

Everyone stood and returned to their desks to gather their belongings. Bernie went into her office to check for an email from Frieda. She wasn’t too hopeful that it would contain anything too useful. She knew Frieda would have phoned if something major had turned up. Bernie clicked on the email, to find she was correct. No fingerprints on the bottles, Toffifee packaging or knife. All the other tests were ongoing and awaiting results. 

After firing off a quick email to Chief Superintendent Hanssen about Medcalf, Bernie logged off her computer. It was definitely time to call it a day. She looked up to see Fletch standing in the doorway.

“Nothing useful from forensics?”

“Nope, not yet. No fingerprints and no other results so far. Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said, standing up and reaching for her jacket.

“Want to come over for dinner? It’s my world famous shepherd’s pie tonight.”

“Thanks Fletch, but I think I’ll have a nice quiet evening at home for once. I reckon Charlie is beginning to forget what I look like. It’s going to be a frozen pizza, mindless television and an early night for me. Don’t look at me like that, I’ll have some salad with the pizza, Mum!” 

Bernie laughed and nudged Fletch, as they pushed through the exit doors and crossed the car park. As they approached Bernie’s car, she spotted that it had a distinct lean to the left.

“Oh bollocks, I’ve got a flat. That’s practically a brand new tyre as well. Fuck’s _sake!_ ”

“You going to call the AA?” 

“Don’t be silly, I’m perfectly capable of changing a tyre. You’re welcome to give me a hand though, if you like.”

Bernie unlocked the car and started digging about in the boot for the appropriate tools. She looked up to see Fletch scrolling through his phone.

“Hello Bill, it’s Fletch. How are you doing mate? Brilliant. Look, my boss has got a flat on her MX5. We’re just about to put her spare on, but can you sort her out with a replacement if she comes over now? Nice one.”

Fletch gave Bernie a thumbs up as he watched her begin to jack the car up.

“The usual discount for Holby’s finest will apply, I assume? Excellent. Now, a word of warning. Not only is Bernie Wolfe my boss, she’s also ex Army. You try any of your touchy-feely sexist crap and you’ll know about it. She knows thirteen different ways to kill you with her bare hands!”

Bernie burst out laughing, as Fletch gave her a big, exaggerated wink.


	16. Chapter 16

It was 7.45am and Bernie was sitting at her desk, clutching a large, triple shot latte and trying to stifle yet another yawn. She hadn’t _intended_ to lie to Fletch the evening before. When she told him she was going to have an evening in front of the television with the cat on her lap, it was exactly what she’d planned to do. However, somewhere in between getting the spare tyre fitted on her car, and sitting waiting for Fletch’s mate Bill to finish putting on a replacement, those plans somehow changed. Incidentally, his warning on the phone to Bill had turned out to be one of his ‘hilarious’ jokes. Bernie had clearly pinged Bill’s gaydar, and once the new tyre had been replaced, he spent a solid ten minutes chatting about his husband and the tragic lack of a decent gay scene in Holby. 

No, instead of a frozen pizza, a purring feline, and the latest Midsomer Murders, Bernie ended up once again, parked across the road from a certain impressive detached property. Serena was clearly already home, as her car was parked on the drive, so Bernie hoped she wouldn’t be spotted this time. Just as her stomach began to growl, and she was thinking of digging in the glove compartment, hoping there might be a stray Crunchie knocking about, she saw a light go on in Serena’s living room. This was followed by the woman herself coming to the window, to draw the curtains. As Bernie looked on, she saw Serena pause, drop her hold on the fabric of the curtains. She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. Uh-oh. Bernie scooched down a little in her seat, as if that was going to help. It came as no surprise, when moments later her mobile rang. 

In spite of Bernie’s protests that she couldn’t watch the house while inside it, thirty-five minutes later, she was eating takeaway pizza with Serena Campbell. Serena’s claim that nothing was going to happen to her with a DCI sitting next to her did make some sense. If you ignored the impossibility of Bernie catching the stalker whilst on Serena’s sofa, munching on a deep pan Hawaiian. As much as Bernie had wanted to keep an eye on the exterior of Serena’s house, in the hope of spotting the phantom gift-giver (and possible murderer), she couldn’t deny that she _had_ thoroughly enjoyed another evening in the company of the beautiful surgeon. The more time she spent with the other woman, the harder she was falling for her. Bernie kept telling herself it was pointless, that not only was Serena part of an ongoing investigation, she was also, to the best of Bernie’s knowledge, straight. However, her heart and her hormones stubbornly persisted in ignoring her head.

 

Another huge, jaw cracking yawn hit Bernie, and she slurped some more coffee, hoping that the caffeine would get to work before the team was assembled. It had been almost midnight again when she got home the night before, and what sleep she _did_ get, was filled with dreams of living in domestic bliss with a certain beautiful brunette surgeon. She was very much in need of the caffeine to help wake her up. 

“Morning Guv. Cor, it doesn’t look like the early night did you much good. You look knackered!”

“Thank you so much, Fletch. You’re too kind.” 

Bernie rolled her eyes at Fletch’s typical cheeky greeting. He just grinned back, unrepentant. 

“The gang’s almost all here. No Robbie yet, shock horror, but the rest of us are ready when you are.”

“Thanks, Fletch. If you get them all round the table, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Bernie gulped down the last of her coffee and stood, ready to start another day on the case. She walked through to the main office, to see everyone sitting at the meeting table, talking quietly. All except for Robbie Medcalf, of course. No doubt he would show up a couple of minutes late, safe in the knowledge that it would piss Bernie off. Little did he know, an email had been waiting in her inbox that morning from the Chief Super. As of the following Monday, Sergeant Medcalf would be the newest member of Holby’s traffic division, and someone else's problem. Mr Hanssen had warned Bernie that there would be a wait until someone new would be selected to replace Robbie. Finding the right person to work on a Major Incident team wasn’t a quick job. It was important to select the correct fit for the role, and couldn’t be rushed. As far as Bernie was concerned, she’d far rather be short staffed than keep Medcalf a single day longer. The thought of being rid of him helped put a spring in her step, in spite of her tiredness.

“Good morning, you horrible lot,” called out Bernie, as she strode over to take her place at the head of the table.

“Morning, Guv,” they responded in chorus.

“Right, let’s get started, shall we? Nicky, I’ve had an email from Ms Petrenko. As soon as we’re finished here, she wants you over at the lab.”

“Wow, really? Thanks Guv,” gasped Nicky, a huge smile on her face.

“You’re going to be working over there to help them identify the origins of the teddy bears and so on. It seems she was impressed with you yesterday when you spoke on the phone. She thinks you might have a good eye for forensics. I’ve warned her not to try and seduce you away from Holby Met!”

“I did my degree in forensics, but ultimately decided that this was the side of the job that was for me. I haven’t changed my mind, so don’t worry, Boss. You’ll be stuck with me for the foreseeable future!”

“I’m glad to hear it. Mo, I’ve also heard from the e-fit tech. He can give you some time today, if you can get your witnesses over to work with him. I’ve emailed the Holby City CEO to see if she can release the two nurses and the porter. I passed on your email address and phone number, so hopefully she’ll be in touch to let you know what’s what.”

Suddenly, the sound of the office phone ringing interrupted Bernie. Jasmine was closest, so scooted her chair across to answer.

“Holby Metropolitan Major Incident Team, Detective Constable Jasmine Burrows speaking, how may I help you?”

They all stifled a laugh at the cheeky grin on her face. There was rarely a day that Bernie didn’t mentally pat herself on the back for taking a chance on Jasmine. It had been thought that she might be a little flaky for the job, but Bernie had had a good feeling about the young DC. Beneath the slightly scatty, class clown exterior, was a good copper with a ton of potential. She could also always be relied upon to give the team a laugh.

“Guv, it’s Sergeant Shah from the front desk for you,” said Jasmine, her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

Bernie stood and went over to the desk, taking the handset from Jas.

“Good morning, Hardik. What can I do for you? Oh he did, did he? Really? I see. Ha! You’re not wrong. Thanks, Hardik. Bye.”

Bernie hung up, shaking her head. She sat back down with a sigh.

“Apparently Robbie Medcalf has phoned in sick. To the main station phone number. He was feeling ‘too ill’ to hold on while Sergeant Shah put the call through.”

“Little bitch,” muttered Mo.

While technically Medcalf hadn’t broken any rules, it was considered the done thing to speak with one’s direct superior when calling in sick. It was both discourteous and cowardly to have a message passed on by a third party. Hence Mo’s outburst. Bernie ignored the comment, and the snorts of laughter from Nicky and Jasmine, and continued with the meeting. 

“Jas, I’d like you to take a look through all of the CCTV footage. Fresh eyes, and all that. Oh, and Hardik Shah thinks you’re full of sass, by the way. Fletch, I want you wading, yet again, through all the evidence and statements to see if anything at all new jumps out. Meanwhile, I have a stack of paperwork to tackle. I’d better get on with it, especially if you all want your overtime this month. Okay everyone, let’s get going,” Bernie concluded.

**

Bernie reached for her coffee cup, only to realise it was empty. She had been diligently working her way through the ton of admin attached to her job. Overtime budgets, forensic budgets, progress reports, assessments and so on and so forth. There were times she fantasised about moving down the hierarchical ladder and becoming a simple sergeant. She would think about how much less of her time would be taken up with pushing paper and more time spent actually policing. She would then remember that she had never been too fond of taking orders, and that she was far better suited to being the boss. 

The office had been nice and peaceful all morning. Mo was off with the Holby City staff, trying to recreate the face of the nosy patient. Realistically, the three e-fits that would be produced were unlikely to be an enormous help. Unless they had amazing recall, given the hundreds of people they would have dealt with since this man was on AAU, the result would almost certainly be a generic middle aged white male. Nicky was at the lab, meaning Jasmine didn’t have her partner in crime to giggle with. Bernie smiled. Those two brightened up the team no end, and in spite of their sometimes silly behaviour, always managed to get the job done. As Mr Hanssen’s email had also informed Bernie the vacancy on the team would be filled by a DC rather than a sergeant, she hoped there would be someone similarly young and enthusiastic amongst the candidates to replace Medcalf.

Bernie stood up and stretched the kinks out. Sitting in front of a computer for hours on end didn’t suit her, and the crackles and pops of her neck and spine attested to that. She preferred to blame the noisy chorus on her prolonged desk duty, rather than on the fact she was getting older and creakier! She fished her wallet out of her pocket and removed a twenty. Her stomach was telling her it was lunch time.

Walking through into the main office, she saw Fletch and Jasmine were both engrossed in their work. She also saw that someone (almost certainly Jas) had found a paper plate from somewhere, created a wickedly accurate caricature of Robbie Medcalf and attached it to his chair. She had managed to portray him looking remarkably like himself, but at the same time, also as a potato.

"Okay you horrible pair, I think it’s time for some lunch. Who wants to do the sandwich run? I reckon we all deserve something from the posh deli today, my treat."

She waved the £20 note. Jasmine looked across at Fletch. As the most junior, it was almost inevitable she would go. Bernie may have technically given them the choice, but realistically, she was telling Jas to go and get lunch. Jasmine genuinely didn’t mind. Being stuck at her desk, trawling through CCTV footage all morning had made her restless, so the prospect of an opportunity to stretch her legs and get some fresh air was a welcome one. Plus, she had to pass her favourite bakery to get to the posh deli, meaning the fancy sandwich would be followed by a big, fat, sugary jam doughnut. 

“I’ll go, Guv. What are you both having?”

After jotting down Bernie and Fletch’s orders, and discovering that they too wanted a doughnut, Jasmine stuffed the £20 in her pocket and with a cheery wave, bounded out of the office. 

This was finally a chance for Bernie to let Fletch know about Medcalfe’s imminent departure to traffic. She couldn’t announce it to the team as a whole until Robbie had been officially notified, but she knew it would go no further than Fletch. Well, he would undoubtedly mention it to Raf DiLucca, but that was it. 

“Thank god for that, Guv. It’s way past time we got shot of him. I know you wanted to give him a fighting chance to make a go of working on Major Incident, but I think he’s getting worse, not better.”

“I know,” Bernie sighed. “I just hate to give up on anyone. As you know, I didn’t want him on the team in the first place, so I think I tolerated far more than I usually would, because I didn’t want to feel like I was being petty. I’ve given him so many chances, but I’ve had enough. Traffic can put up with his bullshit, as of Monday.”

“I think this calls for a team night out at the weekend, don’t you? Celebrate our new freedom from incompetence, sexism and misogyny?” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the loud growling of Bernie’s stomach. She suddenly realised that Jasmine has been gone for ages.

“What’s the girl doing, baking the baguettes herself from scratch? Do me a favour, Fletch, and give Jas a ring would you? Tell her to pull her finger out, I’m wasting away here!”

He laughed, and reached for his mobile. Moments later, they both heard the theme tune from The Bill coming from Jasmine’s desk. She had clearly forgotten to take her phone with her. They looked at each other and shrugged. They’d just have to be patient. To try and take her mind off her rumbling tummy, Bernie reached for the closest folder and began to review its contents.

About ten minutes later, Bernie’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, and saw it was Raf DiLucca calling. That was quite unusual, as their professional paths rarely crossed.

“It’s your housemate calling,” she swiped to answer the call. “Inspector DiLucca! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Fletch saw the smile fall from Bernie’s face, followed by every drop of colour in her cheeks, as she went deadly pale. He caught her eye, and mouthed ‘what is it?’ Bernie just shook her head. 

“Where…? Okay, thanks Raf. We’ll go straight there. Make sure you find this bastard Raf.” Bernie dropped the phone on the table and turned to Fletch, with tears in her eyes.

“Raf was called to the scene of a serious assault. It’s Jasmine, Fletch. Jasmine has been attacked. They’ve rushed her to Holby City hospital.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Come on Bernie, get your jacket. I’ll drive.”

“I… I don’t… I don’t understand. She only went out for lunch.”

Fletch could see Bernie was in shock. As much as instinct told him to rush straight to the hospital, she clearly need time to collect herself. He crossed over to the kettle that sat in the corner of the office, and flicked it on. What was needed here was hot, sweet tea, the traditional British cure-all. He grabbed two vaguely clean mugs and threw in tea bags, then added three heaped teaspoons of sugar to each one. The kettle rumbled to a boil, and he poured water into the mugs. While he was waiting for the tea to brew, he pulled out his phone.

“Yeah, I know you’re busy, Raf, I won’t keep you long. Look mate, Bernie’s in pieces here, so I just wanted to know if there’s anything at all you can tell me about what’s happened? No, no her phone’s here. She only popped out on the sandwich run. As far as I know, she only had the cash Bernie gave her to pay for lunch. Okay mate. Yeah, I’ll let you go. And Raf? I love you. Yeah I know, it shouldn’t have taken either of us so long to say it. See you later.”

Fletch stuck his phone back in his pocket and finished making the tea.

“Here you go, Bernie. Drink this, it’ll help.”

Bernie automatically held her hand out, and accepted the steaming mug. She was staring off into space, her dark eyes looking huge in her pale face. 

“This is all my fault. I sent her out there. I got her killed,” she whispered to herself.

“Jasmine isn’t dead, and this was _not_ your fault Bernie.” 

She was still looking vacantly at nothing, mug held in her hand at an increasingly precarious angle. Fletch gently took the tea from her and put it on the desk. He clasped both her cold, clammy hands in his.

“Listen to me, Jas going out for sandwiches in the middle of the day is about as low risk as it gets.” He could tell Bernie wasn’t taking in a word he was saying. 

“Bernie.” 

Nothing. 

_“Ma’am!”_

It was like a light had been switched back on.

“Don’t call me ma’am,” she murmured. “And as much as I like you, Fletch, I don’t think we’re at the hand holding stage.”

When Fletch had initially met Bernie, when she was brand new to Holby Met, one of the very first things she had told him was that she couldn’t abide being called ma’am. Apparently 12 years as an officer in the Army had put her off the form of address. Between them, they worked out she preferred Guv or Boss.

“Come on, Bernie, drink up, then we’ll get over to the hospital and see what’s what.”

With one final reassuring squeeze, Fletch dropped Bernie’s hands and picked up his mug. Bernie echoed his actions and took a sip of her drink.

“Ugh, this is full of sugar. And it’s tea. You know I never touch either.”

“Today you do. You’ve had a shock, and what better way to deal with it than a strong cup of sweet tea? Drink.”

With uncharacteristic meekness, Bernie obeyed, and began to drink her tea. Fletch smiled at the many grimaces, shudders and muttered sounds of disgust. No matter what Bernie thought of her drink, it seemed to be doing its job, as the colour seeped back into her face, and she began to look like her usual self again. 

Fletch drained the last drops of tea from his mug and stood. Bernie had struggled her way through about half the contents of hers, but as she no longer looked on the verge of passing out, he was satisfied. 

“C’mon, get your stuff together, Boss, and we’ll head over to the hospital.”

Bernie went into her office to retrieve her jacket. As she passed Jasmine’s desk, on the spur of the moment, she picked up the mobile phone that was sitting next to the keyboard and slipped it into her pocket. No doubt Jasmine would be wanting to share her hospital experience on Instagram, or whatever app the kids were using these days. She pushed down the thought that Jas might never be able to share anything online again. No! Jasmine Burrows was a tough little cookie. She would get through this, and be back on the team in no time, full of her usual sass.

 

As they drove out of the car park, Fletch filled Bernie in on the short conversation he’d had with Raf.

“He said they thought she’d been mugged for her mobile, because all she had in her pockets was a couple of quid in loose change and no phone or purse. Surely whoever did this wouldn’t lay into a young woman just because she didn’t have a mobile phone to nick? Even on the worst estates in Holby, that kind of shit rarely happens, never mind in the centre of town in the middle of the day.”

Bernie was silent for a few moments.

“A bungled mugging. A bungled mugging with excessive violence. Where have we heard that before in recent weeks? Why would Edward Campbell’s killer target Jas though?”

“We can’t jump to that kind of conclusion yet, Guv. Let’s see what Raf’s investigation unearths, shall we?”

“What do we know about Jasmine’s next of kin? I don’t think she has any immediate family.”

“No, her mum’s dead and dad was never in the picture as far as I know. I’m pretty sure she sees the team as her family. Blimey, I think that makes us her mum and dad, Bernie,” he said with a laugh.

“With Nicky as her twin, Mo as big sister. Robbie Medcalf as what, the creepy uncle?”

Fletch was happy to see a smile on Bernie’s face. He’d been really worried about how hard she’d taken the news of the attack on Jasmine. It seemed so out of character for the tough ex Army copper.

“I think we should wait until we know the extent of her injuries before we tell Nicky and Mo, don’t you, Fletch? There’s no need to scare them without cause.”

Glancing across at Bernie, Fletch could see she was beginning to fret again. 

“We’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes. I’ll drop you off at the entrance to A&E so you can find out what’s what, while I’m taking half a lifetime to find a parking space. Maybe I should have nabbed a police car instead of driving my own. Could’ve got away with using an emergency vehicle space.”

Fletch knew he was rambling, but he wanted to try and stop Bernie from brooding too much. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“She’ll be okay, Bernie.”

A couple of minutes later, they pulled up in front of Holby City’s emergency department. Fletch watched as Bernie shut her eyes for a few moments, clearly composing herself. 

“Right.”

With that, Bernie got out of the car, strode through the automatic doors, and into the ED. Fletch put the cat back in gear and headed for the car park. Time to circle round and round, then pay a small fortune for a few hours parking, once a space became available. 

**

The ED was surprisingly quiet, Bernie thought. She had expected a waiting room full of the walking wounded, awaiting treatment. As it turned out, there were a mere handful of people scattered throughout the rows of seating. She imagined it was quite a different scene on a Friday or Saturday night. She crossed to the reception desk and waited for the man behind it to finish his phone call.

“Detective Chief Inspector Wolfe. I’m here for Jasmine Burrows, she was brought in a short while ago.”

The receptionist tapped for a few moments on his keyboard.

“She’s being treated in Resus at the moment. Hang on a sec… Robyn!” He hailed a passing nurse. “Robyn, this is Chief Inspector Wolfe. She’s here for Jasmine Burrows. Could you take her through to Resus?”

“Jasmine’s still unconscious. She’s nowhere near ready to be questioned.”

“I’m not here to question anyone. Jas is one of mine. She’s part of my team and I just want to know, to see for myself, how she is.”

The red headed nurse’s face immediately switched from fiercely protective to warm and concerned.

“Mrs Beauchamp is currently treating Jasmine. If you take a seat for a minute, I’ll go and see if she’ll allow you through.”

With that, the nurse steered Bernie towards the nearest row of seats and bustled off. Bernie pulled out her phone and stared at the blank screen for a few moments, before making a decision.

“Serena. Sorry to bother you.”

_“Chief Inspector. What can I do for you? Do you have some news for me?”_

“What? Oh no, sorry. It’s nothing like that. You know, I shouldn’t be bothering you. I shouldn’t have called…”

_“Don’t be silly, Bernie. What’s wrong? You sound upset.”_

“It’s Jasmine. She’s… she’s one of my team.”

_“You told me about her. That’s the young woman you likened to an enthusiastic Labrador puppy, yes? What about her?”_

“Oh Serena, I sent her out to buy lunch and she’s been attacked. They have her in Resus. Resus sounds bad.”

_“Is she at St James’ or here? At Holby City, I mean.”_

“At Holby City. I’m in the A&E waiting room. The nurse went to ask if I can see her. I don’t even know how bad she is.”

_“They’re an excellent group of doctors in the ED, Bernie. They’ll take good care of her. Being in Resus means she’ll be more closely monitored and that they can treat, and hopefully prevent, more complex problems. It doesn’t necessarily mean Jasmine is literally in need of resuscitation. However, it **does** almost certainly mean she has more than just a few cuts and bruises. Did the nurse say who’s treating her?”_

“Um… Mrs Beech? Does that sound right?”

_“Beauchamp. Connie Beauchamp is the clinical lead, and one of the best. Do you want me to come down?”_

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Serena.”

_“You didn’t ask, I offered. It might be a little while, but I’ll be down as soon as possible. I can help translate any jargon at least. I’ll see you as soon as I can, alright? And try not to worry too much, she’s in very good hands.”_

“Thank you.” 

Serena ended the call, and Bernie was left staring at the home screen of her phone. The wallpaper image brought a faint smile to her face as she remembered Fletch’s daughter Evie scoffing at the plain, generic background that had been the default when Bernie had bought the thing. Now, almost every time she saw Evie, the teenager would demand Bernie hand over her mobile, and when she got it back, there would be a new wallpaper. 

“Hi, Inspector…?”

It was the nurse, Robyn.

“Wolfe, it’s DCI Wolfe. Call me Bernie though. Can I…?”

“You can see Jasmine now. Come on through with me to Resus, Bernie.

Bernie followed the nurse, past curtained cubicles and through a pair of double doors. The medicinal, hospital smell hit Bernie’s nostrils and made her stomach clench. Memories of her own hospital stays. 

“Bernie? I know it looks daunting, Jasmine being hooked up to monitors and machines, but she seems to be doing well, and these are mainly to keep an eye on her. She was struggling to breathe earlier, so we had to help her with that. Ah, here’s Mrs Beauchamp to explain everything. Mrs Beauchamp, this is DCI Wolfe, Jasmine’s colleague.”

Bernie tore her eyes away from the still figure on the hospital trolley, towards Holby ED’s clinical lead. She was a slim, elegantly dressed, dark haired woman, a few inches shorter than Bernie, but brought up to about the same height thanks to her towering heels.

Robyn introduced the two women, then moved to Jasmine’s bedside and began making notations in a folder.

“Ms Wolfe, it seems Jasmine has suffered quite a brutal attack, I’m sorry to say. She has several cracked ribs, although so far, happily she shows no sign of internal bleeding. Her left wrist is broken. We have splinted it for the time being, and orthopaedics will be taking a look at that in due course. Our main worry at the moment is a head injury. Jasmine’s brain is showing signs of oedema, that is a swelling. We currently have her intubated, and in a medically induced coma.” Bernie took an involuntary step back at the word ‘coma’

Connie placed a hand on Bernie’s forearm. “Please try not to worry too much. The coma _is_ medically induced. We’re keeping her heavily sedated to try and help relieve any pressure from the swelling.”

Connie Beauchamp suddenly stopped, and looked past Bernie.

“Serena, what can I do for you? It’s unusual to see you down here.”

“Connie, you’re looking well. I actually came down to see the Chief Inspector. Bernie and her team have been the ones investigating Edward’s… Looking into his death.”

Serena’s voice sounded to Bernie, almost as frosty as the day she and Fletch had knocked on her door for the first time. She must undoubtedly be resenting Bernie calling her, feeling like she’d had no choice but to offer to leave her ward and come down to the ED just because Bernie was panicking. 

“Serena, you really didn’t need to come. I know you’re busy, and I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Bernie, it’s no bother. I offered, remember? It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.” Serena turned toward the ED’s clinical lead. “Connie, my side room is free if you’d like to transfer the patient up to AAU once she’s stable enough. I know the HDU and ITU have no beds available at the moment.”

“That’s unusually generous of you, Serena,” replied Connie, with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s hardly generous, merely practical.”

The sound of the Resus doors swinging open made all three of the women turn around. Fletch had finally secured a parking space, and had come to join Bernie at Jasmine’s bedside.

“Sergeant Fletcher, you’re just in time. I was just about to read through Jasmine’s notes and take Bernie through everything. Connie, I’ll take care of DCI Wolfe. Why don’t you see about putting that transfer through, so we can get Jasmine up to AAU?”

“Whatever you say,” snapped Connie, acerbically. She was _not_ used to being given orders in her own department!

Connie stalked toward the door, and turned to make one final comment, not being the type to allow someone else to have the upper hand. The words died on her lips as she saw Serena gently leading DCI Wolfe to the bedside of Jasmine Burrows, left arm around the police officer’s waist, and her right hand rubbing Bernie’s arm. Well, well, well. Rumour had it that Serena Campbell wasn’t exactly mourning her estranged husband’s death. Perhaps Bernie Wolfe was part of the reason why… Connie couldn’t exactly blame Serena in the slightest though, the Detective Chief Inspector was absolutely gorgeous.


	18. Chapter 18

Between the efforts of Connie Beauchamp and Serena, Jasmine was efficiently transferred up to Serena’s domain, and into a private side room on AAU. Bernie was feeling a little calmer about the whole situation. Somehow, having Jasmine’s injuries and prognosis explained in Serena’s warm, husky tones had brought Bernie’s anxiety levels down. Serena didn’t say much that Mrs Beauchamp hadn’t already told her, but from Serena, it didn’t sound anywhere near as scary. Jasmine had been given another CT scan during the trip between the ED and AAU, and Bernie and Fletch we’re sitting beside Jasmine’s bed hoping the results would come through quickly. 

They had decided to call Nicky and Mo while the CT was being performed. It had occurred to Fletch that either of them coming back to a completely empty office might be rather alarming, without any explanation. Both women were shocked and upset at the news. Naturally, Nicky in particular took it hard; Jasmine was not only her flat mate, but also her closest friend. Mo had collected her from the forensic sciences building, thinking quite rightly, that Nicky would be in no fit state to drive. 

Bernie stepped out of the room while Nicky and Mo sat with Jasmine. The room felt claustrophobic, filled with too many people. Fletch quickly followed suit.

“There’s got to be a coffee place in the building, Guv. I dunno about you, but I’m gasping. Shall I go exploring?”

“Coffee sounds good to me. Why not ask a nurse, rather than wandering around blindly? I bet they’re like us, and practically live off the stuff.”

They both looked over the busy ward, hoping to catch the eye of a passing staff member. Bernie spun round, feeling a tap on her shoulder.

“Were you looking for me? I’m afraid I’m still waiting for the neurologist to look over Jasmine’s CT scan, and give me their opinion,” Serena informed the pair.

“No, it wasn’t that, Serena. We know you’ll tell us as soon as you get any news. It was something far more selfish, actually. Fletch hasn’t had any caffeine in a while, and he’s getting a bit jumpy. He wanted to know where the nearest coffee place is.”

After receiving directions, and ascertaining whether Mo or Nicky wanted anything, Fletch trotted off in search of the ‘Pulses’ coffee shop. Something about it made Bernie’s mind turn to earlier in the day, and Jasmine’s cheery wave as she went out to fetch lunch. 

“Bernie, I can see you’re getting wound up again. What’s wrong?”

“Me, sending a member of my team off to get stuff for me again. Look what happened last time.”

Bernie looked through the glass panel in the door of Jasmine’s room and winced at the sight of her, battered and bruised, attached to monitors and having a machine breathe for her. Serena took hold of Bernie’s hand.

“This was _not_ your fault, Bernie. She went out to buy lunch. It’s not like you sent her undercover, into the house of a machete wielding maniac, for heaven’s sake! From the sound of it, Fletch _offered_ to go for coffee just now. And again, he’s hardly at risk of being gunned down by a madman on his way to Pulses for a bloody latte, now is he? You need to try and stop blaming yourself for all of this. Jasmine’s injuries are entirely the fault of whoever attacked her. Look, why don’t you take a little time out, go and sit in my office for a while. I’ll let the sergeant know where you are when he returns.”

With a final pat to Bernie’s hand, Serena directed her across the ward to the office. Hopefully the relative peace and quiet would help her calm down. 

 

A short while later, there was a tap at the door, and Mo stuck her head round.

“Here’s your coffee, Guv. Fletch is in with Jas, and I’m just about to take Nicky home with me. I don’t like the thought of her alone in the flat tonight, she’ll only worry and brood. I reckon an evening with Mr T, Hector and I should help keep her mind off things. What do you think?”

Bernie stood, and accepted the takeaway cup from Mo. 

“That sounds like a very good idea, Mo. Thanks for taking care of her. I’ll come out with you, and say goodbye.”

As they crossed the ward, Bernie tried to arrange her face into a mask of positivity. The last thing she wanted to do was show Nicky in particular, just how scared she was that Jasmine wouldn’t recover from this, and how angry she was at herself. In spite of both Serena’s and Fletch’s pep talks and attempted reassurances that none of it was her fault, Bernie was still blaming herself. Seeing Nicky’s tear stained face, the feelings of guilt and responsibility ratcheted even higher, and Bernie suddenly felt physically sick.

Placing her coffee cup on the nearest flat surface, Bernie gathered Nicky up in a very out of character hug. Nicky gave a little squeak of surprise, then relaxed into the warm, enveloping arms of her boss. Bernie was a great Guv’nor - supportive, generous with praise, an amazing mentor. However, she was never, ever physically demonstrative. 

“She’ll be okay, Nicky. Jasmine is tough, she’s a fighter,” Bernie murmured into Nicky’s ear.

After giving Nicky one last little squeeze, Bernie let go, and moved on to give Mo a slightly more reserved, but nonetheless heartfelt hug. She had come too close to losing a member of her little work family. It was time to make sure they knew just how loved and appreciated they were. 

“Alright you two, off you go. Have a good evening, and try not to worry too much. I’m going to stay here a while longer and I’ll let you know straight away if there’s any change, okay?”

“They need to catch the animal who did this!” Nicky spat out.

“They will, mate. Raf DiLucca is an excellent detective. I was part of his team before the Guv’nor here lured me away, remember? You know his clearance rate is second only to ours across the whole county. He’ll catch whoever did this, and then we’ll all give the bastard a good kicking,” said Mo. She caught Bernie’s eye. “Well maybe not the last part, but definitely the rest. Inspector DiLucca _will_ find him. Come on, let’s go home. We’ll have a couple of drinks and let Derwood cook us dinner, yes?”

Bernie and Fletch waved Mo and Nicky off, before resuming their positions at Jasmine’s bedside. They sat, talking quietly, and watching the nurses coming in and out, checking vital signs every fifteen minutes. 

Bernie stiffened and clenched her hands together when Serena entered the room, holding a tablet in her hands.

“I’ve had the results back from the CT scan. It’s good news. The swelling has begun to subside, and there are no signs of bleeding. The neurologist wants to keep Jasmine sedated and intubated overnight, then we’ll allow her to start waking up in the morning.”

Bernie slumped in her chair, some of the constant tension that had been with her since Raf’s phone call, finally leaving her body.

“Thank god,” she whispered, keeping her head down, hoping neither Fletch or Serena would see her tears of relief.

Fletch pretended not to notice Bernie’s emotional response, knowing she would hate to think anyone had seen her vulnerable side.

“That’s brilliant news, Serena. I’ll just step outside for a few minutes, to let Mo and Nicky know. I’ll also give Raf a shout, to bring him up to speed, shall I?”

Without waiting for a response, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Bernie felt a warm hand on the back of her neck, gently rubbing a soothing pattern. A tissue was pressed into her hand without a word. She dried her eyes, and gave her nose a wipe. Feeling a little more composed, Bernie finally looked up at Serena. 

Thank you, Serena. Thank you for taking care of Jasmine. For taking care of _me_.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m only doing my job. Besides, how often have you taken care of me over the last few weeks? I’m quite sure listening to me blathering on for the last two evenings isn’t part of your job description, for starters.”

Bernie suddenly experienced a flare of desire. The combination of Serena’s hand still gently rubbing the back of her neck, making the small hairs stand on end, and the thoughts of the previous two evenings. The domesticity they’d shared, and that had featured heavily in her dreams. She felt inexplicably and uncharacteristically shy. 

“Not part of the job at all, no. I did enjoy myself though, so it wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

Bernie was horrified to feel the heat of a blush creeping up her throat, and staining her cheeks. What the hell would Serena think of that? The last thing Bernie wanted, was for Serena to realise that a lot of Bernie’s thoughts and feelings towards her weren’t entirely professional and were far from platonic. 

Thank goodness Fletch re-entered the room at that moment. Serena’s hand slipped from Bernie’s neck, and she was both relieved and immediately missed the contact. 

“It sounds like Mo and Nicky must’ve hit the bottle the second they got indoors, Guv. They’re both quite merry already, and nearly deafened me with cheering when I told them the news,” he informed them, with a laugh. “I’d hate to be them when the hangover hits tomorrow.”

“Nicky is young enough to weather the hangover storm, and you know Mo and her enviable ability to drink like a fish and look as fresh as a daisy the next day. Besides that, I’m sure Mr T will keep them both from overindulging too badly.”

Serena looked at Bernie, with a raised eyebrow.

“Mr T? I’m guessing not, as in ‘I pity the fool’ Mr T?”

“Ha! No, it’s Mo’s husband, Derwood Thompson. He’s a teacher, and all the kids apparently call him Mr T. We started doing the same after I mistakenly referred to him as Mr Effanga soon after Mo joined the team. I hadn’t realised she had kept her maiden name.”

“Sensible woman,” commented Serena, with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, I’d better get on if I’m to get away from here at anything resembling a reasonable hour.”

Before Serena could say anything else, Fletch’s phone interrupted, with an obnoxious bleeping sound.

“Sorry, sorry. I set an alarm to let me know when the parking was going to run out. Have you got any change on you, Guv? I’ve only got a bit of shrapnel left, after feeding the meter earlier.”

“I haven’t got a penny in change. I chucked what little I had in the tip jar at the coffee shop this morning. Look, you should just go home, Fletch. I’m sure Evie would appreciate not having to run around after the rest of your brood, and they’ll all appreciate you being there to make dinner.” Bernie turned to Serena. “Evie, Fletch’s eldest, refuses to learn to cook. She’s decided it’s against her feminist principles. When she’s in charge, it’s toast all round. I think when she’s older, she’ll be as proficient as you with a takeaway menu, Serena.”

“I can’t go and leave you. I drove us both here, remember?”

“Adrian Fletcher, I am quite capable of making my own way home. Don’t be silly, go home to your kids. And please make sure to give each of them a hug and kiss from their Auntie B. Go on, that’s an order, Sergeant. Serena, would you mind escorting this man off the premises?”

Serena laughed. “Come on Fletch, the Chief Inspector has spoken.”

Fletch hesitated for a moment, before giving Bernie a tentative hug and following Serena out of Jasmine’s little side room. She watched as they had a short conversation. Serena then patted Fletch on the shoulder before they parted ways, her in the direction of her office and him walking off toward the ward’s exit. Bernie sat back down beside Jasmine’s bedside. She took hold of the young DC’s hand and listened to the steady _beep, beep, beep_ of the heart rate monitor.

 

Bernie was startled awake by the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Serena, coat draped over her arm and bag in hand.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, I’m taking you home.”

Bernie scrubbed her hands over her face, surreptitiously checking that she hadn’t been drooling in her sleep. She looked at her watch - it was almost seven o’clock. 

“I’m okay, I think I’ll just stay a little longer. Thanks for the offer though.”

“This isn’t an offer, it’s an order. Visiting time is over, Ms Wolfe. I promised Fletch that I wouldn’t let you stay any longer than _I_ did tonight. So come on, up you get.”

“I’m fine, Serena.”

The obvious lie was highlighted by the jaw cracking yawn that immediately escaped her.

“Bernie,” there was a mild note of warning in Serena’s tone. 

She held out a hand to Bernie, who reluctantly took it, and allowed herself to be pulled up, out of the chair. Bernie groaned as stiff muscles protested at having been slumped in a hard, plastic chair for so long. She had a long, luxurious stretch, before meekly following Serena out of the door. 

As they headed towards the exit, Bernie cast a glance back over the ward. She couldn’t help wonder if this really _was_ where Serena’s stalker had initially made contact with her. Serena’s stalker, who Bernie was 100% convinced, was also Edward Campbell’s murderer.


	19. Chapter 19

As Bernie dutifully followed Serena to the lift, she couldn’t help but worry that the moment she had left Jasmine’s bedside, something might have gone horribly wrong, that Jasmine’s health had suddenly taken a drastic turn for the worse. As they stood in the slowly descending lift, Bernie made up her mind to get off at the next floor, to return to AAU, and her vigil by the bedside of her young DC.

“Don’t even think about it, Bernie. I know exactly what's going through your mind. Jasmine is fine and nothing terrible is going to happen just because you’re not there. She’s heavily sedated, and will continue to sleep throughout the night.”

“I don’t… I just… Oh, I don’t know. I still feel guilty about everything. Being there for her is the least I can do.”

“She wouldn’t even know you’re there, Bernie. I’ve left instructions that in the unlikely event of anything changing, they’re to ring me, no matter what time it is, okay?”

The lift doors finally opened on the ground floor. Serena tucked her arm through Bernie’s, and led her out, through the exit doors of Wyvern Wing and towards the staff car park. 

 

Serena put on her seatbelt, and looked expectantly at Bernie, who looked back, a little blankly.

“I need to know where you live, if I’m going to drive you there. A postcode for the satnav would be useful.”

“Oh, I see. Holby Central nick will be fine, thanks. I can drive myself home from there.”

Serena shook her head. “Uh-uh, I’m afraid not. I’m under strict instructions to take you directly home and _not_ to the police station. Fletch told me, if I do that, you’ll almost certainly head straight back to the hospital. Postcode please, Chief Inspector.”

Dammit, Fletch really did know her too well. Defeated, she entered her postcode into Serena’s satnav, and settled back in the seat. Serena pressed a button on the steering wheel, and the familiar, cheesy jingle of Holby FM poured out of the car’s speakers. They pulled out of the car park and on to the main road to the dulcet tones of Michael Bublé. 

 

About fifteen minutes later, as they arrived at the front of a small block of flats, Bernie suddenly didn’t want to be alone. Her head said asking Serena to come upstairs was a terrible idea, particularly after having spent the last two evenings enjoying her company far too much. Her heart said ‘fuck it’, and contrary to the way Bernie had always lived her life, it seemed that this time heart was winning in the battle against head.

“Um, would you like to come in for a drink? I mean, I understand if you’d rather get home…”

“I’d love to come in for a drink. As you well know, I have nothing to rush home for.”

Bernie directed Serena round the corner, to her designated parking spot.

“I’m looking forward to meeting Charlie after seeing so many photos of her,” Serena added, as they walked towards the entrance of the block.

“You might not see much of her. She is _not_ fond of visitors. Before I became friends with Jac and Frieda, I never had guests up to the flat, so Charlie was only used to me. When I began to have people over, she developed a habit of clawing open one of my under-bed drawers, yanking out the contents, climbing in, and then crawling over the back and right inside the bed base. After the first few times they came over, she began to emerge from hiding to hiss and growl at them both. These days, she just about tolerates their presence. She retreats to hide in her little igloo cat bed, but leaves _my_ bed alone.”

“I’ve been known to hiss and growl at visitors myself from time to time, so I can completely sympathise,” laughed Serena.

They walked side by side up the stairs to the first floor. Bernie hesitated for a moment, before opening the front door. It was too late now to feel inadequate when comparing Serena’s large, detached house to her own modest one bedroom flat.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” said Bernie, flicking on some lights “I realise practically my whole flat would fit right into your living room, but it’s home.”

“I like it Bernie, it looks cosy. Besides, size really isn’t everything.”

Bernie laughed. “If Fletch was here, he would not have been able to resist a ‘that’s what he said’ to that comment.”

She shrugged off her jacket and hung it up, before taking Serena’s from her, and doing the same.

“I’ll put the kettle on. Or I do have some red wine, if you’d like a glass? It might not be up to your usual standard, but you’re very welcome to have a look at what I’ve got. I also have some fruit juice in the fridge, if you’d prefer a cold drink.”

“I’m like you, Bernie, I don’t believe in drinking alcohol if I’m driving. Far too many people suffering with the fall-out from drink-related RTCs pass through my doors. Juice sounds good though. I drink way too much tea and coffee, so it would make a nice change.”

Bernie directed Serena to sit and told her to make herself at home, before going through into the kitchen. First things first, Bernie put down a fresh pouch of cat food. The chances are, Charlie wouldn’t eat with a stranger in the flat, but the food would be waiting for her whenever she was ready. Bernie then opened the fridge to retrieve the fruit juice, and the bottles of Thistly Cross sitting in the door caught her eye. After the day she’d had, a nice cold bottle of cider sounded like a great idea. 

After handing Serena her drink, Bernie plopped down beside her on the sofa. She kicked off her boots, took a long swig from her bottle of chilled cider and sighed. 

“Ooh, do you mind if I take my shoes off for a few minutes? I was dragged into a five plus hour surgery this morning, the second I walked in the door. I barely had a moment to sit down all day.”

“Of course I don’t mind, whatever it takes to get comfortable. I’m so sorry about today, Serena. The last thing you needed after a long surgery was me calling you up, in hysterics.”

Serena untied her practical black lace ups, pulled them off, and placed them neatly at the side of the sofa. She wiggled her toes, happy to finally release them from their confines.

“You were hardly hysterical, Bernie. You were scared, worried about Jasmine, but about as far from hysterical as you can get. I’ve seen folks weeping and wailing over a loved one with a sprained ankle before, never mind cracked ribs, a broken wrist, and a potentially serious head injury. I think it’s lovely, how much you obviously care about the people who work for you.”

Bernie drained the last of her drink, and went to get herself another. She knew shouldn’t have drunk the first so quickly, but having one more wouldn’t hurt. She returned to her place on the sofa, stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles.

“Today just brought back so many bad memories. I think I really worried Fletch after I got the phone call about what happened. I spaced out for I don’t know _how_ long and he ended up practically force feeding me hot, sweet tea,” Bernie shuddered at the thought.

“Bad memories?”

Bernie’s face darkened, and her previously relaxed stance stiffened. 

“It was my last shout, before I ended up leaving the RMP, the Royal Military Police. We were called out to the married quarters of the barracks housing. The wife of a Corporal was worried about her husband. He had been acting more and more irrationally, and she was scared that he was going to hurt himself or others. It turned out that he had come home from the second of a couple of pretty horrific stints in Afghanistan, with an undiagnosed, and extreme case of PTSD. On his last posting out there, two of his closest friends had been killed, and a couple of others had come home with life changing injuries. They’d been on a routine patrol when their vehicle drove over an IED. He may have escaped the ordeal with fairly superficial injuries, but also, it would seem, an unbearable burden of survivor’s guilt. The poor soul had been hiding his increasing fear and paranoia from everyone - his wife, the rest of his company, and even the Army medics.”

Bernie paused and took a deep swallow from her bottle.

“He had barricaded Layla, his wife, out of the house and was ranting and raving incoherently. Myself and my second-in-command, Captain Alex Dawson attended, along with the newest member of our team, a cocky young Private called Cameron Dunn. Private Dunn and I came from similar backgrounds. We were both from military families, who had certain expectations of how their children’s careers would pan out. Dunn had started down the same sort of path as me, earning a degree, followed by officer training at Sandhurst. Unlike me, he was kicked out of Sandhurst within a few months. I spoke to a few contacts there about him when he was dumped on me, and they all said the same thing, that he thought he knew everything there was to know. That he was arrogant and almost impossible to teach. My guess was that his father, a Colonel, must have pulled some strings to secure him a second chance. He was starting at the bottom this time, and was trying to work his way up through the ranks. I don’t actually remember an awful lot about what happened, when everything started to go wrong on that day. I’m told it’s quite common for people who have suffered a trauma to blank a lot of the details out. What I do know is, by the time the dust cleared, Alex Dawson was in a coma, I had two bullets in my shoulder, Private Cameron Dunn was dead.”

“My god, Bernie!’ gasped Serena, grabbing hold of Bernie’s hand.

Serena’s touch seemed to snap Bernie out of reliving those dark memories. She gulped down the rest of her cider, put her bottle on the coffee table and awkwardly patted Serena’s hand. 

“What… I mean, how did it all end?” Serena asked, gently.

“John Monteith ended up being sectioned, I believe. I never blamed him for any of it. Afghanistan fucked up a hell of a lot of good soldiers. I went through several operations, and months of therapy, both physical and psychological. I still have enough hardwear in my shoulder to set off metal detectors. Alex thankfully made a full recovery. She’d taken a bullet to the head, but she has a good, thick skull and it bounced off, so there was no permanent physical damage done. We both decided it was time to call it a day after that. She upped sticks and emigrated to New Zealand and joined the Police over there. She met a lovely lady called Elena and they’re now happily married, with a kid on the way. Colonel Dunn must have pulled yet more strings, because the whole incident quietly went away. It was never made public that Cameron Dunn disobeyed direct orders and took it upon himself to kick in the back door of the property and confront Corporal Monteith. Who, it turned out, had brought back a few souvenirs from the desert, and was armed. He shot Cameron point blank, then started firing out of the window at Alex and myself,” Bernie trailed off and stared down at her hand, still clasped in Serena’s. 

“Is that why… Well, you mentioned the other evening, that you’d never intended to make friends at work. Is that because you didn’t want to be in a position again where you care too deeply about them?”

“Bingo. If you don’t care, you don’t get hurt. I failed royally there, didn’t I? I love each member of my team like family. Apart from Robbie Medcalf. I can’t stand the sight of that arsehole. Never wanted him in the first place though. He was dumped on me, just like Dunn,” Bernie paused and blinked slowly. “Bloody hell, S’rena, I do believe I might be half cut. I don’t get it. This is only my second drink.”

“When did you last eat? Breakfast? That will be why, silly.”

Bernie frowned and thought about food. 

“Ah yes, that’ll be it, I haven’t actually eaten anything today. My diet has been strictly caffeine based. Come on, you can keep me company in the kitchen while I make us some dinner.”

“Are you sure you’re safe to cook when you’re a little bit drunk?”

Hauling herself to her feet, Bernie pulled Serena up, and slung an arm around her shoulders. “I’d have to be far more pissed than this not to be able to create something tasty. Come on.”


	20. Chapter 20

Serena had to admit, as she leaned against the counter and watched Bernie in the kitchen, the impressive knife skills the DCI had demonstrated while making the pasta sauce in her kitchen two nights before, seemed to have remained unaffected by alcohol. Within about thirty minutes, they were sitting at the small dining table, eating a delicious meal of chicken in a creamy mushroom and white wine sauce, with broccoli and rice. Bernie earnestly swore Serena to secrecy about the fact the rice came from a pouch which had been microwaved for two minutes.

“I’ve never quite been able to master cooking rice, but who needs to bother when Uncle Ben provides?” she asked between mouthfuls, and Serena just hummed in agreement.

“You told me the other evening, Bernie, that you followed family tradition when you joined the Army. What made you choose to become military police? Were you even given the choice?”

A slow smile crept across Bernie’s face. “Absolutely honest answer? I chose the RMP because I was in love with Detective Inspector Maggie Forbes and wanted to be just like her! From a _very_ young age, I was allowed to stay up late at the weekend and watch The Gentle Touch, and I had a massive crush on Maggie Forbes before I even knew what it meant. Joining the RMP was the best of both worlds for me. Hey, just think, if you’d fallen in the same way for Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H, you might’ve ended up in the RAMC.”

Bernie snorted with laughter, then nearly choked as a stray grain of rice went down the wrong way. Once she realised Bernie was in no danger, Serena’s eyes rolled and there was an unsaid ‘that’ll teach you’.

“I did watch M*A*S*H when I was young, as it happens, and I thought Hawkeye was amazing. The conditions they had to work under in that programme though? Absolutely not for me. I prefer to work under conditions no more primitive than the modern NHS, thank you!” Serena retorted.

 

Once they had finished eating, Bernie dumped the plates in the sink. They would be tomorrow’s problem. She replenished Serena’s fruit juice, and switched to the same herself. For all the meal had helped soak up some of the booze, Bernie still thought it wise not to carry on drinking. 

They returned to their previous positions on the sofa, full of good food. Bernie felt strangely relaxed. It would seem that telling Serena her tale of woe had been rather cathartic. She was still worried about Jasmine, and what the morning would bring when they allowed her to wake up, but somehow it was no longer gnawing away at her.

“Tell me,” Bernie moved closer and nudged Serena, conspiratorially, “entirely between the two of us, and completely off the record. When you booted Edward out, did you really _just_ pack up his shit and leave it outside? No confrontation when he turned up pissed and shouting the odds? There were no slaps, no knee to the balls, no frying pan to the head? You were calmer than I imagine I would've been, after everything he put you through.”

“Just between us, and totally off the record? Well, I _may_ have gone shopping at an amazing little Asian supermarket in Holby Village, and there _may_ have been an accidental spillage of the pure chilli extract I bought there. The crotches of all Edward’s underwear _may_ have been affected.” Serena smiled at the bellow of laughter that burst from Bernie. “It seemed particularly appropriate under the circumstances.”

“The whole STI thing is yet another reason I’m happy I’m a lesbian. I mean, we’re not immune obviously, but the risks seem so much smaller somehow.”

“I once kissed a woman you know, at a party in Stepney,” confided Serena.

“Oh. And…?”

“And I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It was before I was married. Edward was making a drunken prick of himself, as usual. So I decided to put some distance between us. I ended up in a shed at the end of the garden, grandly referred to as a summer house by the homeowners. It was occupied by a rather lovely young woman called Sally. She was also hiding out from someone or other, and we began chatting. Next thing I knew, she was kissing me, and I was snogging her right back. I think I enjoyed it far more than any other kiss I’d ever had. That should possibly have thrown up some warning signs about marrying Edward. The fact we were interrupted by someone yelling for me to take Edward home, because he’d just peed up a rubber plant, then been sick in the kitchen sink _should_ have added to those warning signs.”

Bernie snorted. 

“Maybe you should have stayed with Sally, and just let someone else pour Edward into a taxi on his tod.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been missing out all these years.”

Without warning, Serena took hold of the points of Bernie’s shirt collar and gently dragged her forward into a kiss. She drew back and looked into Bernie’s eyes, anxiously checking for the reaction. Bernie paused for a heartbeat or two, before wrapping her arms around Serena and bringing their mouths back together.

After a couple of minutes, lost in increasingly passionate kisses, Bernie gently, but firmly, pushed Serena away.

“I can’t do this, Serena. I’m taking advantage of you, of your vulnerable situation. It’s not right.”

“Hang on, _I_ kissed _you_ first, remember?” Serena breathlessly exclaimed. “Besides, you’re the one who’s vulnerable right now, so maybe I’m the one who’s taking advantage. Other than the kisses I shared with Sally, all those years ago, I’ve never been more than friends with a woman. But the thought of this, of you? It feels right. This afternoon, when I came down to the ED, and walked into Resus to see Connie bloody Beauchamp all over you, I honestly could have slapped her. I realised I was jealous, that I wanted to be the one offering you comfort. I realised that this closeness I’ve been feeling towards you isn’t only friendship, it’s also attraction. I want this, Bernie. I want _you_.”

Serena stood, and slowly began to undo the buttons on her blouse, revealing a satin and lace bra, and the most beautiful pair of breasts Bernie had ever laid eyes on. 

“Are you sure about this, Serena?” Bernie asked, reluctantly dragging her gaze back up to Serena’s face. “I don’t want you to rush into anything you might come to regret later.”

Serena shrugged the blouse off her shoulders and threw it on the sofa. She moved forward the couple of steps it took to reach Bernie. She offered her hand to Bernie, who rose to her feet, and she began to unbutton Bernie’s shirt.

“Do I look like someone who is unsure?” she purred.

Bernie tugged her shirt from the waistband of her trousers and undid her cuff buttons. Serena removed the shirt and tossed it on top of her blouse. She took Bernie’s hand, gently placed it on her breast, and pulled her in for another kiss.

Bernie swept a thumb over the peak of Serena’s breast and felt the nipple tighten in response, beneath the satin. Serena ran her fingers through Bernie’s silky blonde hair and deepened the kiss.

“Bernie, I think we should take this into the bedroom, don’t you?” Serena gasped, as she pulled away from the kiss to catch her breath.

Taking hold of Serena’s hand, Bernie slowly led the way to her bedroom, frantically trying to remember if she’d bothered to make the bed that morning, and whether yesterday’s clothes had made it into the laundry basket. She was relieved to see that the previous day’s underwear wasn’t lying on the floor, and she had at least smoothed out the duvet and pillows. 

Bernie shyly cupped Serena’s breast again. There was something about this that was making her feel like this was her first time, like she was an inexperienced virgin all over again. She swept gentle fingers across the satin covered mound, and felt Serena’s nipple harden even further. The little moans of pleasure coming from Serena helped boost Bernie’s confidence. She reached back and fumbled a little with the clasp of Serena’s bra, before she felt it give way. Bernie bent her head to replace her hand with lips and tongue. Serena tangled her fingers in Bernie’s hair and arched into the touch, groaning at the pull of Bernie’s mouth as she sucked, and the gentle scrape of teeth against sensitive nipples.

“God, Bernie, I think I had better lie down before my legs give way completely.”

Slowly pulling away, Bernie threw back the duvet, to allow Serena to sit. Before she did, Serena unbuttoned her trousers, and allowed them to fall to the floor. Serena lay down, and held her arms out to Bernie. Bernie’s eyes raked over Serena, over her face, flushed with passion, her perfect breasts heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She could hardly believe Serena was here, in her bed, dressed only in a pair of lacy knickers.

“You take my breath away, Serena. You’re perfect.”

“And you, Chief Inspector, are way over dressed.”

Bernie quickly tugged off her remaining clothes and lay down beside Serena, who immediately began trailing kisses along her jaw, towards her ear. Bernie gasped as Serena bit lightly on her earlobe, then kissed her way down Bernie’s slender neck. She blazed a trail of hot little butterfly kisses across Bernie's collar bones and dipped her tongue in the hollow at the centre to feel the pulse hammering away.

She nipped and licked a trail down to Bernie’s shoulder, gently kissing the scarring she found there. 

“Bernie Wolfe, you are gorgeous.” breathed Serena, before taking one of the blonde’s nipples into her eager mouth and caressing the other with her hand.

“Serena, you're driving me crazy. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

Releasing Bernie’s nipple with an audible pop, Serena’s lips curved up in a shy smile. 

“You obviously inspire me. Either that, or I’m just a natural.”

Serena resumed sucking and licking Bernie’s nipple, and let her hand drift downwards, running her fingers delicately across Bernie's smooth skin, feeling taut stomach muscles flutter beneath her questing fingertips.

“What do you need? Show me what you like.”

At that, Bernie grasped Serena's hand and pressed the surgeon’s fingers into the aching damp heat between her legs. Serena allowed her fingers to drift across Bernie's eager wet centre. She paused for a moment.

“I’m nervous that I’ll get this wrong, Bernie,” she whispered.

“Impossible. But if you’re worried, just think about what _you_ like, what you do when you’re touching yourself.”

With renewed confidence, Serena explored Bernie’s aching centre, before gathering some of the moisture, and bringing her hand up to her mouth for a tentative taste. 

“Mmm, you taste so good Bernie.” she purred in the other woman's ear. 

Bernie found the sight of Serena savouring her wetness unbearably sexy.

“Touch me please, I need…” Bernie panted.

With one last suck of a fingertip, Serena moved her hand slowly back downward, stroking and caressing her way slowly back to her goal. 

“Tell me, Bernie. What do you want?” Serena brushed her fingers over damp curls.

“Oh Serena, I need you inside me.”

“My pleasure.” 

At that, Serena took Bernie's nipple back into her mouth, and stroked down across the heated, slick flesh, to tentatively enter Bernie, first with one, then two fingers. She started to thrust, as Bernie moved against her, faster and faster. She found Bernie’s clit again with her thumb, and began a rhythmic side to side caress. With a quiet moan, Bernie stiffened, and came apart in Serena's arms.

Serena held on tightly, as Bernie trembled and gasped through her orgasm. 

“Oh my god Serena, you’re amazing.” Bernie groaned against Serena’s throat before pulling her into a hot, passionate kiss.

Shifting position to straddle Serena, Bernie leaned forward and began to comb her fingers through Serena’s hair whilst raining the lightest, softest kisses across her brow, eyelids and cheekbones. Serena moaned, as Bernie nuzzled her ear, then kissed her way down her neck. She kissed and nipped Serena’s throat and clavicles.

“You’re so beautiful, Serena. You took my breath away the very first time I laid eyes on you.” 

Bernie kissed her way slowly down Serena’s chest, then almost reverently cupped Serena’s breasts. “You’re absolutely magnificent.” Bernie murmured, teasing around Serena’s nipples with tongue and fingertips. She sucked strongly on a rosy peak. Serena cupped Bernie’s head, threaded her fingers through soft, blonde hair and moaned with pleasure. Not wanting to leave Serena’s other breast out, Bernie began caressing its nipple with eager fingers. She had no idea how long she spent, lavishing attention on Serena’s breasts. 

“Bernie!” Serena panted eventually. “I need more. I need… you.”

Bernie began to kiss and lick her way downwards, making sure to caress and taste every inch of Serena’s soft, smooth skin. She stripped off the last lacy barrier of clothing, parted Serena’s thighs and settled between them. Breathing in the scent of Serena’s arousal, Bernie smiled in anticipation of the treat ahead, and nuzzled her nose in Serena's lush pubic hair.

She teased Serena, by kissing and licking up and down her inner thighs, leaving little love bites, each time stopping just short of where Serena was desperate to be touched. Finally, Bernie relented, parted the damp curls, and savoured her first intimate taste of Serena.

After a couple of minutes, Bernie paused and looked up, along the smooth planes of Serena’s body, at her flushed face. 

“Is this… are you okay, Serena?”

“Okay? If this was any okayer, I think it would probably kill me,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Bernie smiled happily, before returning to her very pleasurable task. She eased one, then two fingers inside Serena’s entrance. She began moving in a steady rhythm as Serena’s hips began to rock. Bernie fluttered the tip of her tongue over Serena's clit before sucking it into her mouth. She alternated between licking and sucking, as Serena gasped and moaned. Bernie began to hum, and the vibrations made Serena’s stuttering breathing stop completely for a few moments, before she bucked against Bernie’s mouth as orgasm after orgasm hit. Serena’s hand eventually reached down, and gently grasped Bernie’s hair.

“Y..you’d better st..stop… before you really _do_ kill me!” panted Serena.

Bernie stilled her fingers, but continued to gently kiss Serena’s sensitised clit, easing her through the aftershocks. 

Bernie moved up next to her, and covered their sweaty bodies with the duvet. Serena snuggled into her side, still breathing heavily after the exertion. 

“Bernie, that was... it was… What the hell was I thinking? Why in god’s name did I put up with Edward for so long, when sex with a woman is so amazingly mind blowing?!”


	21. Chapter 21

Bernie hadn’t slept a great deal. In spite of the lack of it over the preceding two nights and the sharing of several incredibly satisfying orgasms with Serena, sleep had been largely elusive. On this occasion however, she genuinely didn’t mind. Her wakefulness had offered the opportunity to savour the feel of having Serena Campbell spend the night in her arms. The first flush of dawn was stealing across the sky, peeking through the open curtains. It provided just enough light for Bernie to be able to admire the creamy skin of Serena’s back. She resisted the urge to stroke gentle fingertips along its length. Resisted the urge to wake Serena with yet more kisses and caresses.

Sliding carefully out of bed so as not to risk disturbing the sleeping surgeon, Bernie tiptoed out of the bedroom. A shower, followed by some strong coffee was just what the doctor ordered. She snorted quietly at the thought. Using that saying would never be quite the same again. 

 

Feeling refreshed from her shower, and dressed for work, Bernie entered the kitchen. At the sight of the sink, still full of the previous night’s dishes, she groaned.

“Ugh, that will teach me not to be so lazy,” she told herself, as she rolled up her sleeves. 

Having rinsed the worst of the dried-on food from the pots and pans, she began to stack the dishwasher. As she slotted Charlie’s dish in the top rack, it’s owner slinked into the room and wound around Bernie’s feet.

“Hey there Charlie Farley, ready for some breakfast? A word of warning, Serena is still here. Try not to put her off with your territorial displays once she gets up, please. I really like this woman and I don’t want you scaring her away. If I have my way, we’ll be seeing a lot more of her, so you’ll just have to get used to it!”

After switching on the kettle and popping some bread in the toaster, Bernie fed the glossy black cat. She suddenly noticed she was singing a cheery tune to herself, as she pottered around her little kitchen. She realised she was happy. For the first time in a very long time, Bernie Wolfe was feeling truly happy. Oh, she’d been content enough over the last few years. She loved her job, and in spite of herself, had made some very good friends in Holby. All of that aside, deep down, Bernie hadn’t been genuinely happy since the events that led to her ending her career with the RMP.

Despite the ever present worry about Serena’s stalker and the murderer who was still out there, not to mention the attack on Jasmine, Bernie couldn’t wipe the enormous, soppy smile off her face. Apparently, all she’d needed was the love of a good woman. 

Woah, hang on a moment! It was way too soon to even be _thinking_ the ‘L’ word. 

“I refuse to be a stereotype. I am _not_ a U-Haul lesbian,” she muttered, as she stirred two sugars into Serena’s coffee. “I’m not even 100% sure what a U-Haul _is,_ for heaven’s sake.”

Bernie carried the two coffee mugs and a precariously balanced plate containing a pile of toast, into the bedroom. The sight of Serena laying in her bed, was breathtaking. While Bernie was out of the room, Serena had turned over, and was now sprawled out on her back. The bedclothes had shifted down around her waist, and it took an awful lot of self discipline for Bernie to stop herself from flinging her clothes off and rejoining Serena beneath the duvet. Unfortunately though, duty called. She carefully placed the drinks and plate on the bedside table, and eased herself on to the mattress beside the sleeping woman. She looked down at the face that was becoming increasingly dear to her. Her eyes drifted over high cheekbones, a defined yet feminine jaw, and the utterly sexy cleft in Serena’s chin. She brushed a stray lock of hair from Serena’s forehead and gently kissed her awake.

“Mmmm… Morning, darling, what a lovely way to wake up.” Serena sat up, back against the headboard, and stretched. “You’re dressed already. How unfair.”

“Can I appease you a little with coffee and toast?”

Bernie passed Serena her coffee, and offered her a slice of buttered toast.

“It’s a start, I suppose. I think I would have preferred a naked Bernie beside me in bed though. I have a feeling that might be a new dependency I’m developing.” Serena took a sip from her mug, and looked shyly across the top of it at Bernie.

“You… Um, you want to do this again? Wait. By ‘this’ I mean dinner and spending time together and everything. Not just this...” Bernie trailed off and gestured weakly, encompassing the two of them and the bed. 

“Bernie. Darling. Your incredible skills in the kitchen and bedroom aside, I like you. I enjoy spending time with you, and I feel unbelievably comfortable in my own skin when I’m around you. So yes, I want to do this again. All of it. Assuming you…”

“Oh yes. Yes please!” 

The words came out far more fervently than Bernie had intended, but she didn’t care. She took the coffee and toast out of Serena’s hands, dumped them on the bedside cabinet, and pulled Serena on top of her. 

**

“Shall I make us some more coffee while you take your shower, Bernie?” Serena asked as she dressed in yesterday’s clothes. “Those are stone cold.”

Bernie grabbed a fresh shirt from the wardrobe, as the one she had been wearing was now a wrinkled mess on the floor.

“Yes please, if you don’t mind. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She gave Serena a quick kiss, before disappearing into the bathroom. So much for her plan to go into work early to play catch up, before going to the hospital to check on Jasmine. For the second time that morning, she stepped under the hot spray, and reached for the shower gel.

“Bloody worth it though!”

 

Bernie quickly towelled herself dry and hastily dressed, happy she’d largely managed to keep her hair dry. As it was now far later than she had expected to leave home, they had decided that Bernie would go to Serena’s house with her, wait while Serena showered and changed, then they would both go to the hospital together. Bernie felt a little guilty that she hadn’t done a stroke of work since lunchtime the previous day, but Jasmine came first. Even if she did go into the nick now, Bernie knew she wouldn’t achieve anything meaningful while Jas was still unconscious and any possible lasting impact from the attack was largely unknown.

Tugging a brush through her hair, Bernie walked through into the living room. Serena was sitting on the sofa, sipping her coffee. Charlie was sitting directly opposite, on the coffee table, staring unblinkingly at Serena. 

“She’s been like that since I sat down. I’ve been half expecting her to launch herself at me at any moment.”

“She usually just keeps her distance, apart from the occasional sneak attack on people’s ankles, that is. Frieda is desperate to make friends with Charlie, but Charlie’s having none of it. She’d love a cat, but Jac isn’t a pet owning kind of woman.”

Bernie sat down beside Serena and reached for the boots she’d discarded the evening before. 

“I’ve never had a pet. My parents wouldn’t allow me one as a child, not even a goldfish. After that it just never seemed to be the right time.”

“Charlie is my first. Being an Army brat, followed by uni, then joining the Army myself, it was never really an option. I hadn’t even thought of getting a pet to be honest, but this one here was determined,” Bernie waved a hand toward the elegant feline. “I’d just moved in here about a month before. I finished work at stupid o’clock and as I got out of the car, she appeared out of nowhere, meowing at the top of her tiny kitten lungs, and literally climbed up me. She clawed her way right up my legs and halfway up my torso. I was instantly smitten. I brought her upstairs, opened a tin of tuna for her, which she practically inhaled, and settled her on the sofa. I then googled the nearest 24 hour supermarket, and jumped back in the car so I could buy supplies.”

“She’s a cat who clearly has good taste, picking you as her owner,” Serena said, with a smile.

“I think she just knew a gullible fool when she saw one. For a cat of humble beginnings, she has remarkably expensive tastes when it comes to food,” Bernie looked at her watch. “Bloody hell, look at the time. We’d better get a move on.”

In a flurry of gulping down coffee and grabbing belongings, they rushed out of the flat and down to Serena’s car. Once they were underway, Bernie phoned Fletch.

_‘Good morning, Bernie.’_

“Morning, Fletch. Where are you?”

_‘I’m just on my way in to the nick.’_

“Excellent. I’m running a bit late, so I’m going to go directly to the hospital. I want to be there when Jasmine wakes up. You hold the fort at the station, and I’ll give you a shout when she’s awake, okay?”

_‘No problem, Guv. I had a text from Mo a few minutes ago. She’s taking Nicky to her and Jasmine’s flat to collect some stuff for Jas, clothes and whatever, then she’s going to drop her off at the hospital, before coming into work. Is that all okay with you?’_

“Of course. Talk to you later, bye.” Bernie ended the call and slipped the phone back in her pocket.

“Are you… are you going to tell him? About us, I mean.”

Bernie turned to look at Serena, who was tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, and frowning.

“I don’t think I could hide it from him for long, even if I wanted to. The man knows me far too well.”

“I see.”

“He’ll be over the moon, by the way. He’s been nagging at me to ‘find myself a good woman’, almost since the first day I met him. As soon as he realises, mind you, you’d better brace yourself for an invitation to go round for dinner, and to meet the kids. Also something which happened to me on the first day I met him.”

“And... other people?”

Bernie shifted around to face Serena as best she could.

“Serena, if you want to keep this quiet, I understand. You’ve just lost your husband, estranged or not. Not to mention that I’m a woman. I get it if you don’t want people to know. I honestly do.”

“Oh, Bernie, I don’t know. There is genuinely a part of me who wants to shout it from the bloody rooftops. On the other hand, part of me also hates the thought of my personal life being yet more grist to the hospital’s rumour mill.” 

“I wasn’t intending to stride on to your ward this morning and announce to all and sundry where you spent last night, Serena. Look, maybe it would be better all round if we put this on hold until my investigation into Edward’s death comes to an end, one way or another.”

Serena slowed the car, and pulled into the nearest parking space. Bernie looked up, confused as Serena undid her seatbelt, and twisted around towards her.

“Bernie Wolfe, I like you. An awful lot. Let me be clear, I don’t want to put _anything_ on hold. Spending time with you over these last few days has made me happier than I’ve been in such a long, long time. I just think I’d like us to try and keep things… _discreet_. For a while at least. And to be absolutely, one hundred percent clear, your gender has _nothing_ to do with any feelings I have regarding people knowing about us. When I’m ready for the world to know, I’d happily walk into AAU waving a bloody rainbow flag. I’ll even sign up to join Dominic Copeland and Fleur Fanshawe’s LGBTQ+ hospital social group.”

Bernie let out a big sigh of relief. The last thing she had wanted was for Serena to agree with any talk of cooling off their fledgling relationship.

“I’m not bothered one way or another about the flag waving, but I’m all for you joining the social group. You’re far too isolated and it would probably do you the world of good. What kind of events do they have?”

Serena was obviously happy that Bernie’s fears had been allayed, for the time being at least. She buckled up again, and pulled back out into the morning traffic to resume their journey.

“I have absolutely no idea what they get up to. I’m not even entirely sure what the group is called. I’ve only ever heard Mr Copeland referring to them as ‘the Holby City Homos’, and I don’t somehow think that’s the official name.”

They both burst out laughing, and any remaining tension completely evaporated. Ten minutes later, their smiles vanished, as Serena parked on the drive in front of her house. They got out of the car and approached the porch to see what the stalker had left this time.

“Hmmm… this doesn’t feel as bad as the last ‘gift’,” said Serena, making air quotes with her fingers.

They looked down at a wine bottle with the neck broken off, and a bouquet of very dead flowers. 

“Well it’s better than a stabbed teddy bear, certainly. Still not exactly reassuring and healthy behaviour. If it’s okay with you, I think I’m going to get a couple of cameras set up. The tech guys have some amazing kit, including miniature cameras that you wouldn’t know were even there. I’m thinking of one pointing down the drive and one covering the porch and front door. Does that sound acceptable?”

“Whatever it takes, Bernie. I have to admit, this is all beginning to make me almost dread coming home.”

“Well, um… you know you can always stay with me for a bit. If you’d like. It’s...I mean...you know.”

Serena cupped Bernie’s face in her hands, and gently kissed her, before wrapping her arms around Bernie’s waist. She smiled as Bernie’s arms enveloped her in a hug. They both breathed slowly and deeply and let the contact with each other calm them. Bernie reluctantly drew back from the embrace.

“We’d better get a move on Serena. You’re going to be late for work as it is. You go indoors, get showered and what have you. I’ll ring Frieda and ask her to come over for this little lot. Do you want me to come in and check the house over?”

“No, no I’ll be fine. The alarm would have gone off if anyone had got inside.”

“Alright, you get on, and I’ll wait out here for Freida, okay?”

Serena stole one last kiss, before unlocking the front door, and disappearing inside.

“Not a U-Haul lesbian, eh, Wolfe? I just practically asked the woman to move in with me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the posting of this chapter, Dead Ed is now officially my longest fic. Exciting times! 😁


	22. Chapter 22

Bernie glanced again at the broken wine bottle and dead flowers that had been left by Serena’s front door. She shook her head in disgust, before digging her phone out and calling Frieda Petrenko’s mobile.

“Frieda, where are you?”

_ ‘I am just about to leave for work. Why?’ _

“More crap left on Serena’s doorstep. Is there any chance you could come and bag it up? No one’s touched the stuff this time. It’s still in situ.”

_ ‘I suppose I can make a diversion to collect the evidence.’ _

“Thanks, Frieda. You still have her address?”

_ ‘Yes, I have the text you send last time. I will be there in approximately twenty minutes.’ _

“I really appreciate this. See you soon.”

_ ‘Oh really? I see.’ _

And without another word, Frieda hung up. 

Bernie winced, realising she may have just opened a large can of worms. In telling Frieda Petrenko that she was at Serena’s house at that time of day, Frieda would surely put two and two together. If Freida assumed Bernie had spent the night at Serena’s,  _ technically  _ she would be incorrect, but unless she was to outright lie, Frieda, and by association Jac would know about her and Serena. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now, and besides, she trusted her friends’ discretion. 

At a loose end, Bernie decided to take a look to see how secure the exterior of Serena’s house was. She checked out one side, then the other, of the detached property. She noted security lights with movement sensors, sturdy, well maintained fences of a good height, and a securely locked gate leading to the rear of the house. The boundaries on either side of the property were brick walls of a decent height. The decorative shrubs were well trimmed back, not allowing any decent cover for anyone with ideas of lurking. The only thing missing, short of recommending razor wire, was the addition of CCTV cameras. 

Back at the front of the house, she decided to have a closer look at the items on the porch. Bernie took several photos with her phone, and crouched down to get a couple of closeups. She frowned and knelt down, leaning over the jagged neck of the bottle and sniffed. There was a definite chemical smell. And was that a tiny speck of blood? Maybe the stalker was becoming sloppy. If that  _ was  _ blood, then they had his DNA! Finally, after so long with no progress, this could be the first real break in the case. Bernie then took off her proverbial rose tinted glasses. Even if it was blood, unless they had an actual suspect to compare it to, or it was in the DNA database, it was as good as useless. 

Bernie stood up, and brushed dust from the knees of her trousers. She leant against the wall and emailed the pictures to her work address and to Fletch's, with a brief explanation. Hearing the front door open, she straightened up and turned. Serena was looking fresh faced after her shower. Barely sparing the stalker's latest calling card a glance, Serena walked into Bernie's arms. 

"Feel better for that?" asked Bernie. 

"I feel even better for the hug than the shower and fresh clothes, if I'm honest." 

Bernie hummed in agreement and they lost themselves in a series of gentle kisses. 

“You should probably get going, you’re going to be late for work as it is,” Bernie murmured. “I’ll wait here for Frieda, and grab a lift back from her.”

“I texted Ric Griffin, my co-lead. I told him I’d been busy getting laid, so I’d be starting later this morning.”

“Getting laid? Charming!”

Serena began giggling, and Bernie’s heart lifted at the beautiful, carefree sound.

“What do you prefer to call it, making sweet, sweet love? No, I just told him that something had come up, and I’d be in as soon as I could. Ric is one of the absolute worst gossips at Holby, and although I do generally trust his discretion, I’m not sure he could keep quiet about this without the risk of spontaneous human combustion.”

Bernie hugged Serena closer, and buried her nose in sweet smelling, slightly damp hair. She was considering repeating her offer for Serena to stay with her while the stalker was still active, when she heard the sound of a throat being noisily cleared. She slowly and reluctantly drew away from Serena, and turned to see Frieda Petrenko crouching by the items on the porch. Jac Naylor was standing, with her bum resting on the bonnet of Serena’s car, arms folded, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on her face.

“Professor, I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“We decided to carpool this morning for a change. More environmentally friendly and so on.”

“Oh really?” Bernie said, the scepticism very apparent in her voice. “Morning Petrenko, thanks again for coming over,” she called to the forensic scientist. Frieda just sketched out a brief wave, and carried on writing out the case details on the evidence bags.

“As the Chief Inspector here appears to have forgotten her manners, I suppose I’d better introduce myself.” Jac walked towards Serena, hand outstretched. “Jac Naylor, Home Office pathologist and partner of Frieda, who I believe you’ve already met.”

Serena reached out, and shook Jac’s hand.

“Serena Campbell. I believe you’re acquainted with my late husband, Edward.”

Jac gave a sharp bark of laughter and grinned at Serena. She nodded approvingly. 

“Indeed. Does this mean I’ll be expected to share even more of my lemon meringue pie, Wolfe?”

Bernie’s face took on a slight deer in the headlights look, as her gaze shifted between Jac and Serena. 

“I… erm. I suppose that’s up to Serena really,” she replied, tentatively.

“If Bernie’s baking is anywhere near as good as her cooking, then count me in,” Serena said, taking hold of Bernie’s hand and squeezing it gently. “Anyway ladies, I really need to show my face at the hospital. It was nice to see you again, Frieda, circumstances aside. Good to meet you, Jac.”

Serena crossed to her car and unlocked it. She turned to Bernie, who had followed her.

“I’ll see you at the hospital in a bit?” 

Bernie nodded, and Serena hesitated for a split second, before leaning in and giving Bernie a soft, lingering kiss goodbye. She got into the car, manoeuvred off the drive, and disappeared down the quiet, suburban road.

“So, you and the Widow Campbell then, eh? Nice.”

“It is. Very nice. I really like her, Jac. More than like her.”

“And does she feel the same?”

“I hope so.”

 

***

 

Frieda and Jac dropped Bernie at the entrance to the Wyvern Wing of Holby City hospital, having thoroughly questioned her about the budding relationship with Serena. She had extracted promises that they would behave themselves at dinner on Saturday, but had the feeling that whatever happened, Serena could more than hold her own. She looked at the automatic doors leading into the hospital and hesitated. 

“Come on, don’t be such a wuss. Jasmine is going to be fine, Raf will find her attacker and if my instincts are correct, that will mean we’ll also have Edward Campbell’s murderer,” she told herself.

Bernie squared her shoulders and walked through the sliding doors. 

After being let on to the ward, Bernie crossed the ward and peered through the glass panel in the door of Jasmine’s side room. Nicky was sitting on the far side of the bed, looking far better than she had the afternoon before. An evening spent with Mo and Mr T had clearly done her the world of good. There was a nurse at the end of the bed jotting notes in a blue folder, and Serena was standing with her back to the door. In spite of having seen Serena only half an hour or so before, Bernie’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. She tapped lightly on the door before entering.

“How’s the patient doing this morning?” she asked.

Serena turned, and a smile lit up her face as she saw who had come through the door.

“She had a good night. All her obs have been stable, and as you can see, after we left yesterday evening, orthopaedics came by and set her wrist. She should start waking up any time now and as soon as that happens, I’ll extubate.”

 As they looked at the figure in the bed, Jasmine’s hand came up and began to bat at the tube that was helping her to breathe.

“Ah, here we go. She’s starting to come round. Jasmine, Jasmine can you hear me? You’re in hospital, you’ve been in an accident but you’re going to be okay.”

Serena caught hold of Jasmine’s arm before she could try and yank out the endotracheal tube. Jasmine’s eyes began to flicker, and bit by bit they could see consciousness returning.

“Jasmine, I’m going to remove this breathing tube now. It won’t be very pleasant but I promise that you’ll feel better afterwards.”

Nicky sat forward and took hold of Jasmine’s hand as Serena extubated her friend. Bernie watched anxiously as Jasmine coughed and took her first unassisted breaths. Serena and the nurse kept their eye on the monitors, making sure that her levels remained stable. Serena hooked Jasmine up to some oxygen, via a nasal cannula. 

“There we go, we’ll just give you a little help with some more oxygen. Okay, everything seems fine here, so we’ll leave you in peace for a while. Bernie, can I have a quick word with you outside for a moment please?”

“Of course. I’ll just be a minute,” she told the two younger women.

Serena, Bernie and the nurse exited the room, and Serena took Bernie off to one side.

“I'm sure I don’t  _ really _ need to point out the obvious to you Bernie, but I think it does bear saying anyway. I realise you want to know the details of what happened to Jasmine yesterday, but you do need to take it easy on her and try not to push too hard. As you’re only too well aware yourself, there is a chance she won’t remember much, if anything, about what happened.”

“Don’t worry Serena, I won’t be interrogating her. I hope she does remember something that will be of use, but I’m honestly not holding my breath. As you say, going through a trauma can have a tendency to significantly affect the memory.”

Serena quickly glanced around, before briefly taking hold of Bernie’s hand.

“Go on, get back in there. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She gave Bernie’s hand a reassuring squeeze, before reluctantly dropping it. 

“God, I really want to kiss you, Serena,” Bernie groaned quietly.

“Me too. That’s why I’m going to go and bury myself in a pile of paperwork right now. Behave yourself and stop tempting me.”

With a final light touch to Bernie’s arm, Serena turned away and headed towards her office. Bernie watched until she disappeared behind the door, then returned to the small side room. Nicky had raised the head of the bed a little, and Jasmine was sitting more upright, taking small sips of water. Bernie winced as she looked properly at Jasmine’s face for the first time that day. The bruising had come out with a vengeance overnight. 

“Hey kid, that’s an impressive shiner you’re sporting. How are you feeling?”

“Morning Guv,” she croaked, throat raw and raspy from the intubation, “I’m fine. Head is a bit swimmy, but Nicky says they’ve been giving me all the good drugs. Thanks for coming to see me.”

Jasmine’s eyes closed, and Bernie thought she had drifted off to sleep. 

“Lost your money, Boss. Sorry ‘bout that,” she murmured.

“Bloody hell, Jas, that is the least of my worries about what happened yesterday, you silly sod,” chided Bernie. “Do… do you remember anything?” she asked gently.

Opening her eyes with obvious effort, Jasmine looked at her left arm, plastered from fingertips to elbow.

“Remember being on the ground… arm being stamped on… kicked in the side… head.” Jasmine’s voice became sharper as she relayed her memories of the attack.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay. Just try and relax. You concentrate on getting better and we’ll let Raf DiLucca and his team worry about what happened for now.”

Jasmine’s eyes closed again, and her breathing evened out as she dozed off. As Bernie took a seat at the bedside, she noticed for the first time, a pair of helium filled balloons, bobbing gently in the slight breeze caused by the air conditioning. Tied to the head of the bed, they were silver and shocking pink, and bore the words ‘It’s a GIRL!’ 

Noticing the direction of Bernie’s gaze, Nicky explained.

“The hospital gift shop had sold out of get well soon. This was the best I could do,” she shrugged a little sheepishly. 

Bernie laughed and tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair. She asked Nicky about her evening with Mo and Derwood, and the two of them chatted quietly as Jasmine slept on.

  
  


A while later, Nicky had gone off to stretch her legs and grab something to eat. Bernie was looking at her phone, checking work emails, and trying to decide whether to text Serena. Would it make her look too needy? Like an immature teenager? She was torn between wanting to go in search of the other woman, and being loathe to disturb her, and take her away from her work any more than she had already done over the last couple of days.

Suddenly, Jasmine began to groan and shift about restlessly.

“Jas, it’s Bernie. Are you okay? Shall I call the doctor?”

“Guv… ‘m okay. Water please?”

Bernie poured some water from the jug on the bedside cabinet and held the cup to Jasmine’s lips as she slowly drank. Jas began to relax again, and her eyes closed. 

“Guv? Flash in the desk… you need to see… I texted…” 

Jasmine’s words tapered off as sleep overtook her again. The door to the side room opened, and Serena entered, followed by Nicky. 

“She woke up again, briefly. She was moaning just before, Serena. Do you think she’s in pain?”

Serena looked in the folder containing Jasmine’s notes, and made a notation.

“I’ll give her a spot more morphine, just in case. She’ll almost certainly sleep on and off for most of the day, which is a good thing. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Serena’s lovely, isn’t she? She’s been so reassuring,” said Nicky once Serena had left.

“She is. Nicky, when Jas woke up, she was saying something about ‘flash in the desk’. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Flash in the desk? A flash drive, perhaps?”

“Of course, good thinking. She also mentioned a text.”

Nicky pulled out her phone.

“The last text she sent me was… 10.53 yesterday morning. Told me she was getting square eyes from watching CCTV footage. I haven’t seen her phone though, was it stolen?”

Bernie reached into her jacket, hanging from the back of the chair.

“No, it wasn’t. It was still on her desk when she left the office. I grabbed it on the way here yesterday and forgot I’d left it in my pocket,” Bernie tried to switch the mobile on. “Bugger, the battery’s dead. Did you bring a charger with her stuff?”

Nicky dug through the bag she had brought from home, through clothes, magazines and whatever else she’d grabbed and stuffed in the hold-all that morning.

“No, it looks like I forgot. Damn.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take it back to the station with me and charge it up. Do you know her passcode?”

It turned out she did, because apparently they used the same one to make it easier to remind each other when they were drunk! Serena re-entered the room and administered the morphine into Jasmine’s IV.

“I’m going to head off to the station, Nic. Do you want to stay here and keep Jas company? I know she’s going to be sleeping most of the time, but I bet she’ll appreciate a familiar friendly face.”

“Oh yes please, Boss. I’ll call you if she says anything else though, okay?”

They said their goodbyes, and Bernie followed Serena out of the room.

“I don’t suppose I can lure you away for a quick coffee, can I?” she asked Serena. “Whisk you away from your paperwork for a while?”

“Oh go on then. I’ll just let Ric know.”

  
  


They sat at a small table in Pulses, a triple shot latte and a pain au chocolat in front of each of them, their knees touching. 

“You know, Serena, you don’t actually have to come to dinner on Saturday if you don’t want to. I would hate to feel you’d been pressured into it just because of Jac.”

“Bernie, I want to. I know some of this is brand new to me, but I’m all in. I want to get to know you better, and by extension, get to know your friends. If I  _ do  _ end up joining the Holby City Homos, I hope you’ll come with me to whatever social events they hold. I suppose what I’m saying is, I want you to be my girlfriend. God, I sound like a teenager, but that’s what I want. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. I’ve been pushing papers around, trying to look busy, but all I’ve achieved is the conclusion that I want a… a full on relationship with you.”

Bernie was hyper aware that they were in Serena’s work environment. In spite of her instinct and desire to fling her arms around Serena and passionately kiss her, she settled for moving her hand closer on the table top and lightly touching their fingertips together.

“I would be absolutely honoured to be able to call you my girlfriend, Serena. Never mind sounding like a teenager, you have no idea how many times I came close to sending you emoji filled texts this morning.”

They sat, slowly drinking coffee and picking at their pastries, barely able to tear their eyes away from each other. Eventually, the mood was ever so slightly marred by someone getting their crutches tangled in Bernie’s chair leg and nearly going flying. By the time they had set him to rights and helped him into a chair, it was time to get back to work.

Bernie walked Serena to the lift.

“Would you like to come round for dinner tonight?” she asked, feeling inexplicably shy.

“Of course. I’d love to, Bernie.”

The lift doors opened, and Serena stepped on board. As the doors closed, Bernie turned to leave. Before she could get more than a step away, she heard the  _ clunk _ of the lift doors halting, and felt a hand on her arm, spinning her round.

 

“Fuck the rumour mill!” exclaimed Serena, before proceeding to kiss Bernie senseless.


	23. Chapter 23

Bernie walked into the main office of the Major Incident team. She felt weirdly as though she had been away for weeks, not for just over 24 hours. Given how much had happened in those 24 hours though, maybe it wasn’t too odd. 

“Good afternoon you horrible… erm, pair,” Bernie was thrown off stride for a moment, as her customary greeting brought home just how empty the office was. “Robbie still calling in sick?”

“Nah, Boss, he just hasn’t bothered to show up.”

She looked across at Medcalf’s desk, and saw Jasmine’s caricature still remained in place, attached to Robbie’s chair.

“Roll on next Monday,” muttered Bernie.

At Mo’s quizzical look, Bernie explained about Medcalf’s imminent transfer to traffic.

“It’s just between the three of us for the moment, Mo. He still hasn’t been officially informed.”

“How’s our girl doing?” asked Fletch.

“I left her sleeping like a baby. Nicky’s going to stay, so she has company whenever she wakes. Serena said Jas would probably sleep most of the day away.”

Bernie went over to Jasmine’s desk and sat in the chair. Glancing around, she spotted a charger cable, fished the phone out of her pocket, and plugged it in. She swivelled the chair around to face Mo and Fletch.

“After I called you, Jas woke up again briefly. She said something about a text, and ‘flash in the desk’. Nic suggested it might be a flash drive. Jasmine seemed quite agitated about whatever it was. Her phone battery is dead, so we’ll have to wait for a bit to check her texts. Meanwhile, I’m going to have a rummage in her desk to see if there’s a flash drive.”

“I’d be a bit careful if I were you, Guv. I saw the state of that girl’s bedroom this morning, and it was an eye opener!” Mo warned. “The rest of the flat was tidy though, so I’m guessing either Nicky does a  _ lot _ of cleaning up, or Jasmine manages to control her mess in shared spaces.”

The surface of the desk was a little cluttered, but not too messy. When Bernie opened the top left hand drawer however, it was a different story altogether. There was loose change, keys, batteries, a half eaten bar of Dairy Milk, a jumble of coloured pens and pencils. A whoopee cushion? A _bra_?? Not exactly things you’d expect to find in the desk of a police officer. Amongst the random bits and bobs, there were a couple of flash drives. Bernie placed them beside the keyboard and checked the drawer below. This one seemed more conventional, filled with stacks of paper. A  little digging showed that as well as the expected forms and reports, there were also several sketch books, filled with drawings - mainly caricatures of her fellow team members. It was obvious how Jasmine liked to kill time when things were slow. Other than that, there were no drives.

The right hand drawer contained more clutter, including multiple opened packs of chewing gum, a tangle of charger cables, pens, more loose change and six... no seven flash drives. Bernie lined them up next to the others. She checked the desk’s surface, and found two more in the pen pot and one at the back of her in tray. 

“Bloody hell, the girl loves a pen drive! There’s a dozen of them. I think we’d better divide them up between us, and see if we can find anything useful. Obviously we don’t want to pry into anything too personal, but equally, we don’t want to miss whatever it is that bothered her so much.”

As the trio began to trawl their way through the drives, it became clear that Jasmine was dedicated to backing up anything and everything digital. There were essays and research from her university days, including her dissertation. Photos and digital art. Emails and spreadsheets. Documents where it wasn’t immediately obvious what they were…

“Either of you have any idea what documents called stuff like ‘Coffee Shop AU’ and ‘Soulmate AU’ might be?”

“Ah, it looks like she’s a writer of fanfic in her spare time, Guv. I’ve come across a few. It seems our Jasmine is a closet Rizzles shipper,” said Fletch.

Bernie had no idea what the hell Fletch was talking about, but it didn’t sound work related, so she didn’t pursue the subject. The trouble was, as diligent as Jasmine clearly was about backing up her files, she  _ wasn’t  _ terribly diligent about where she put things. Yes, most of her uni stuff was together, presumably put on the drives as and when the work was completed, but there were also other files she’d obviously stuck on there at random, at a later date. She grabbed her phone, and tapped out a text to Nicky:

 

**What’s with Jasmine’s flash drive addiction? Found twelve of the bloody things. How’s she doing?**

Nicky quickly replied:

**_Jas learned the hard way to back up everything when her laptop died on her in her first year of uni, and she lost a ton of stuff. She also makes multiple copies and keeps them in different locations just in case of fire, flood or theft! She’s okay, woken a couple of times to drink some water but hasn’t said anything else. Serena says she’s doing brilliantly, and has taken her off the oxygen._ **

Bernie smiled.

**Excellent news. If you think of anything you forgot to bring for her, or there’s anything you want, just give me a shout. Mo and Fletch are itching to visit, and I’ll be back myself later on, so we can bring supplies. Give her all our love next time she wakes up, won’t you?**

Nicky’s reply consisted of a dozen assorted emojis of thumbs up, smilies, and anything hospital related. Bernie relayed the information to the others, and carried on scrolling. She removed the drive, nothing obvious of use having been found. She put in the next one, the one that had been in Jasmine’s in tray.

There were only two files. Files called ‘CCTV’ and ‘CCTV2. Bernie felt a rush of adrenaline. Now  _ this _ looked like it could be promising. She was just about to click on the first file, when there was a merry little jingle as Jasmine’s phone came back to life. She pulled the phone as close as the charging cable would allow, and tapped in Jas and Nicky’s shared passcode. She had to smile at the phone’s wallpaper. It was a picture of Jasmine and Nicky, cheek to cheek and clearly the worse for a few drinks, with a grinning Fletch in the background doing ‘bunny ears’ fingers above both their heads. 

Bernie tapped on the texting app. The second to last text thread was a conversation between Jas and Nicky, as expected. Jasmine commenting on her CCTV induced square eyes, with Nicky’s unsympathetic ‘Aww diddums, I’m having a brilliant day at the lab’ response. Less expected was the most recent - a text conversation between Jasmine and ‘Spud Face’. Beside the ‘Spud Face’ contact, was a photo of a scowling Robbie Medcalf. 

Yesterday 12.16

**Sorry to bug you when you’re off sick, but I still can’t find the CCTV from 102 Shelby Road amongst the files.**

Yesterday 11.03

**Hey Sarge, hope you’re feeling better. Going through the Campbell case CCTV again (*yawn* lol) but I can’t see the footage from opposite the crime scene on Shelby Road. Am I looking in the wrong place?**

 

Robbie had responded to neither text. Further down were a couple of ‘we’re all off to the pub, if you want to join us’ type messages, both of which received a monosyllabic response. Further down still, was a conversation that caught Bernie’s eye, dated the first day of the investigation into Edward Campbell’s murder. She scrolled down far enough to read the messages in order of sending.

12/03/19 16.12

**Hey Sarge. I’ve emailed you a list of all the premises Fletch and I spotted that look like they have CCTV cameras. 102 Shelby Road looks like it could be very useful. Homeowner is leaving for a month long trip tomorrow afternoon, so you might want to prioritise it :)**

12/03/19  17.27

**_I saw_ **

13/03/19  13.43

**Hey Sarge. Was the CCTV from 102 any use? Think how good a quick arrest would look for our clearance stats!**

13/03/19 13.59

**_Footage was useless_ **

 

Jasmine just followed Robbie’s abrupt reply with a string of sad face emojis. 

“From the look of this, when I sent you and Jasmine to help with the door to door, Fletch, she found that the house opposite the spot Campbell was attacked had security .”

“I remember. The uniform boys had already talked to the resident, who hadn’t seen or heard anything, but Jas spotted a camera and went in for another chat. I think she was a bit gutted when it didn’t come to anything,” replied Fletch.

“She was texting Robbie yesterday. It seems that there was nothing from the address in the collated CCTV files. Looking back, she warned him that the owner would be away for a month from the following day. Could he have been lazy enough to have missed them? Just between the three of us, I honestly wouldn’t put it past him. And of course, there’s no way he’d have ever owned up to it. He’s ignored the texts she sent yesterday, too. The thing is, I’ve got a flash drive here with two files on it, both labelled ‘CCTV’. The drive was at the back of her in tray. What are the odds that she took a copy of the footage from 102, in case Robbie fucked up? And that as he didn’t bother to reply to her texts, she was about to take a look at the raw footage?”

Fletch and Mo looked at each other, then looked at Bernie. Could they all have been chasing their tails over this case for weeks, when there had been the potential for a massive lead sitting right under their noses? They both scooted their chairs over, next to Bernie. 

“Robbie Medcalf is a frigging liability. I can see why his last nick transferred him out. I bet they bigged him up, just to get rid,” Mo said, with a sneer. 

“I think the previous Chief Superintendent did some kind of deal with Robbie’s old division. I know I heard rumours at the time, that Self was up to something, but I just wish he hadn’t stuck us with a dud like Medcalf,” Fletch groaned.

“Even if he missed whoever lives at 102, if he’d said something, I’m sure we could have retrieved the footage somehow. All this time we’ve been running around in circles, and the face of the murderer might have been sitting on this pen drive the whole time.”

The three of them turned to the screen, and Bernie double clicked on the first file.

“We know from tracing Campbell’s movements, that he left the Rocket pub at approximately ten pm on the night of his death.”

“You say ‘left’ Guv. He was booted out of the Rocket.”

“Indeed. He was pissed, had no money and he was bothering people, asking them to buy him a drink. Anyway, it means we can fast forward to ten pm and go from there.”

Bernie dragged the progress bar along until the time stamp got to just after ten o’clock.

“This should give a perfect view of the murder, Boss. I remember that Volvo being parked directly in front of Campbell’s car.”

Fletch pointed on the screen to a big, boxy, old fashioned Volvo estate. Bernie and Mo both nodded. Bernie clicked the x2 button, to speed things along a little.

“This really is a lovely quiet street,” observed Mo. “I wonder if the murder has helped lower the house prices,” she mused, with a crooked grin.

Bernie laughed, and shook her head. “I imagine a recent murder would help quite a lot with negotiations.”

They returned their attention to the screen, and watched the time stamp tick by. Finally, at 10.39 a car pulled up and began to painfully manoeuvre into the space behind the Volvo. Bernie clicked back to real time.

“Here we go.”

“You can see he’d had a skinful. A toddler could easily park a bus in that space. What was his blood alcohol level again, Guv?” 

“More than three and a half times over the limit.”

As they watched, Campbell was obviously finally happy with the position of his car, and they saw the headlights go off, and the driver’s side door open. Edward Campbell emerged after a few struggles, and slammed the car door shut. The indicators flashed, as he locked the car.

“I’m half surprised he even remembered to lock up, the state of him,” snorted Fletch. 

The three of them saw Campbell walk around the front of the car, keeping a hand on the bonnet to steady himself, and step on to the pavement. He stopped and patted his pockets.

“What’s he looking for?”

“I bet he realised he’s left his phone in the door pocket.”

Before Campbell could begin to negotiate his way back around the car, a figure appeared. Dressed in dark clothing, hood pulled up, leaving the face in shadows. It wasn’t immediately obvious what gender the person was. A couple of words appeared to be exchanged between the two people on the screen. Suddenly the arm of the figure in black shot forwards, and Campbell staggered slightly, then crumpled to the ground. The attacker crouched beside Edward, and yanked off Campbell’s watch, before feeling in his pockets and removing his wallet. They then stood up again, and briskly walked off in the same direction they’d come from. 

Bernie paused the footage. “That was no mugging gone wrong. Edward Campbell wasn’t even given a chance to hand over his wallet before he was stabbed.”

“Exactly like you predicted from the beginning, Boss.”

She began to rewind the video, frame by frame and they all craned forward, to see if they could get a look at the killer’s face. There were groans of frustration all round as they realised the shadows cast by the hood obscured the murderer’s face. Bernie took out her phone, and made a call.

“Frieda, hi. Jasmine? She’s doing okay, thank god. They’ve taken her off the ventilator, and she woke up briefly. At the moment she’s basically sleeping it off. Look Frieda, it turns out we have some CCTV footage of Edward Campbell’s murder. I know, believe me. It’s a bit of a long story, and I’ll fill you in later. We can’t see the face of the attacker and I’m hoping one of your tech geniuses will be able to enhance the picture. I’m going to email you everything we have, but it’s the first file, labelled ‘CCTV’ and you’ll want to watch from 10.39pm. I’d really appreciate a rush job, if you can. Cheers. Yeah, bye.” 

Bernie tinkered around, saving the files from the flash drive to the Campbell case database, before emailing them to Frieda. She blew out a deep breath, finally realising quite how tense she’d been while watching the footage. 

“Look, it’s getting on for five. Do you both want to head over to the hospital to see Jas? I have some bits I need to do here, then I’ll be over myself.”

After seeing them off, Bernie went into her own office and picked up the phone. She dialled the extension for Henrik Hanssen’s secretary.

“Afternoon, Angie, it’s Bernie Wolfe. Yeah, she’s doing well. God yes, a huge relief. Angie, is there any chance I can have a few minutes of Mr Hanssen’s time today? That’s great. See you in half an hour. Bye.”

She wasn’t looking forward to telling the Chief Super what they’d found, but it had to be done. She was also going to be having a few strong words about Robbie Medcalf, while she was at it. 

 

***

 

Bernie was delighted that the first person she saw upon entering AAU was Serena. Even though they had only seen each other a few hours before, it felt like far too long since she had been able to feast her eyes on that beautiful face. 

“Good afternoon Chief Inspector, what’s all this then?” Serena asked, indicating the contents of Bernie’s arms. 

“Umm, well I know my lot are permanently hungry, they’re like a small swarm of locusts where food is concerned. I also thought your team might appreciate a bite to eat too. It’s just a small thank you for taking such good care of Jasmine. Is it… is it okay to put a few of these in the staff room, or whatever?” 

“Oh darling, that’s a lovely thought.” 

Serena blushed and looked around slightly furtively, the endearment obviously having slipped out by mistake. Bernie just grinned at her. 

“Top half are for your team, I got a couple of veggie and a couple of meaty, I hope that’s alright.”

Serena took the top four pizza boxes off the top of the stack and stepped a little closer. 

“We… we are still on for dinner, aren’t we?”

“Of course. I’ll only eat a slice or two, to keep the gang company. I want to make sure I save my appetite for later.”

There was a flash of desire in Serena’s eyes.

“I certainly hope so,” purred Serena softly, before raising her voice to a normal level. “This is very kind of you Ms Wolfe, thank you so much. I’ll put these in the break room and let people know to help themselves.” She gave Bernie the barest hint of a wink, and went to walk away.

“Oh, Serena? It is alright for Jasmine to eat pizza, isn’t it? After everything…”

“Of course, it’s perfectly fine. Thanks again for these, Bernie. I’ll see you a little later.”

Bernie became aware she was staring a little too blatantly at Serena’s bottom, and reluctantly tore her eyes away from the retreating figure. She also became aware that the pizzas were really beginning to burn her hands. Crossing the ward, she peeped in through the door, and was delighted to see her team around the bed chatting and laughing with a very much awake and animated Jasmine. She shouldered the door open.

“Alright you horrible lot, who wants pizza?”

A quiet cheer went up, and space was quickly cleared on the table. The air of Jasmine’s small room was soon filled with the smell of pizza and the happy sounds of a small plague of locusts eating. Bernie noticed that Nicky’s balloons from the morning had been joined by two more. Also proclaiming ‘It’s a GIRL!’ Fletch saw the direction she was looking in, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t tell me,” interrupted Bernie, “the hospital gift shop had run out of get well soon? Let’s hope the maternity ward’s current occupants produce a crop of boys, or there are going to be some disappointed new mums and dads!”

Before they knew it, the boxes were empty. 

“Bloody hell, you lot, I thought there would be leftovers. Four extra large pizzas, you bunch of gannets.”

Fletch grinned happily and patted his stomach. 

“You’re such a slave driver, Guv, we burn off a lot of calories.”

“Hmmm. Anyway, now that you’ve all filled your faces, how is the patient feeling?”

“I’m great thanks, Boss. Definitely better for having polished off a few slices of pizza. I slept through way too many meals. Did you know Mr Hanssen visited? I mean, I was asleep, but he visited and brought me grapes. How nice was that?”

The expression on Nicky’s face told a different story. With Jas asleep, she would have had to carry the conversation. Bernie couldn’t help but smile, imagining the poor DC having to make polite small talk with the Chief Superintendent.

“He said he’d dropped by to check on you.”

They were interrupted by an obnoxious beeping sound coming from Fletch. 

“Whoops. That would be the 15 minute warning that the parking is running out. I’ve been told that the car park attendants here are pretty rabid, and will ticket you for being even a minute over, so we’d better get a move on.”

 

Mo, Fletch and Nicky left in a flurry of hugs and goodbyes. Fletch was going to drop Mo back at Holby Central, and Nicky was going to spend another night Chez Effanga-Thompson. 

“Right, now it’s just the two of us, how are you  _ really _ feeling?”

Jasmine looked a bit sheepish at the question.

“Honestly? My ribs are aching. Well, everything is kind of aching, actually. Serena wanted to give me some more pain relief earlier, but I didn’t want to be all doped up when I had the team visiting. And I’d been terrible company for poor Nicky all day as it was.”

Bernie sighed and shook her head. Without a word, she got up and left the room. She spotted Serena sitting at the nurse’s station, looking through a folder. 

“Serena, Jasmine has just admitted to me that she turned down the offer of drugs earlier, because she had visitors. She’s in pain, so is there any chance you can dose her up?”

“Of course. I thought she was fibbing earlier when she claimed not to need any more pain relief,” Serena moved closer and lowered her voice. “She’ll probably be out like a light within about thirty minutes of it being administered. Coincidentally, I should be ready to leave in…oh, half an hour, give or take.”

“That  _ is  _ an interesting coincidence.” 

They gazed into each other’s eyes, before reluctantly looking away. 

“I’ll just…” murmured Bernie.

“Yes… I’ll…” came the equally vague reply.

Bernie returned to her place at Jasmine’s bedside.

“I’ve had a word, Serena’s going to get you sorted with some pain killers. Now, do you remember telling me about a flash drive this morning?”

“Guv, I don’t even remember you being here this morning! Was it about the CCTV? Did you see it?”

“You told me about a text as well, so I had a look at your phone. Which reminds me,” Bernie reached into her jacket. “Here you go, fully charged. As I said, I had a look, and you were trying to get hold of Robbie Medcalf to ask him about 102 Shelby Road.”

“Yeah, I had been so excited when I saw that a house almost directly across from the scene had a camera. The resident, Jo… something or other, was super busy, packing for a month long business trip to the USA, I think it was.”

They were interrupted by a nurse entering the room. She checked Jasmine’s vitals, before administering the pain relief into the IV line.

“Thanks, Lou.”

The nurse, clearly a woman of few words, smiled and nodded, before leaving them alone again.

“Jo whatever her name was, told me she’d be leaving for the airport the next day, early afternoon. She wasn’t too pleased at the prospect of yet another visit the next morning either. I asked her if I could look at the camera feed, but she was a bit stressed about the trip and didn’t want me under her feet. I had a spare flash drive in my bag, so I copied the whole of the previous day and that morning, and left her to it. I’m not sure exactly why I did the copy when I knew Robbie Medcalf would be officially collecting it. Worried he might miss her, I suppose.”

Jasmine paused and had a drink of water. 

“I saw that you had warned him that the homeowner was going away the following day.”

“Well, it seemed almost too good to be true that a house so close would have security cameras. I was gutted when he told me it had been useless. I asked him about it, and he…” Jasmine trailed off.

“And he, what? Come on, you can tell me anything, Jas, you know that.” Bernie laid a reassuring hand on the young DC’s shoulder.

“He got quite nasty with me. Said something like ‘I’ve been a copper since you were a snotty nosed baby, still pissing the bed. Never question me like that again or I’ll see to it you’re back in uniform and walking the beat through Holby’s shittiest estates.’ Kind of scared me a bit, so…” she finished in a whisper.

“Oh Jasmine, I wish you’d come to me with this. Enough is enough. I don’t want you to worry about any of this now, but that type of behaviour warrants an official complaint. I won’t tolerate that kind of bullying.”

“No one else heard him though. It’ll be my word against his.”

“I said don’t worry. Your statement will be one element in a long list of things he’ll have to answer to, trust me. Now, sit forward for a moment.”

Bernie rearranged the pillows on the bed, plumping them up. She gave her a careful hug, before gently encouraging Jasmine to lay back.

“Try and relax. I’m sure you’ll be away with the fairies soon, once those drugs kick in properly. If you need me for anything, I’m only a phone call away, okay? Sleep well, kid.”

  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

As Bernie exited Jasmine’s room, she spotted Serena emerging from her office, coat on and bag in hand. What perfect timing. 

“Ms Wolfe, you’re leaving?”

“I am Ms Campbell. Jasmine is settled, so I’m heading off home.”

Bernie held the door to AAU open for Serena, and they walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing, towards the lift. 

“You know I hate it when you call me Ms Campbell,” said Serena quietly.

“I’m sorry, I thought we were keeping it formal in front of the troops.”

“After my ummm… _performance_... outside Pulses this morning, I’m not sure there’s much point. Nothing has got back to me yet, gossip-wise, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. It was worth it though.”

Serena was staring straight ahead, but Bernie could see the little smile on her face, reflected in the polished lift doors. They slid open, and Serena and Bernie entered the empty lift. Aware that the lift could stop, and anyone could join them at any point, Bernie stood with her hands clasped together behind her back. She had no desire to compromise Serena’s reputation, and the urge to reach out to her was almost overwhelming. 

“Shall I follow you home then, Bernie?” 

“Hmmm? Ah actually, I was hoping to cadge a lift. I left my car at work and walked over. Fletch had said yesterday how scarce parking was, so it seemed easier. I hope you don’t mind going via a supermarket. My last few evenings have been rather busy, meaning I haven’t had the chance to shop, and my fridge is almost bare.”

“Bare you say?” Serena raised an eyebrow, then dropped an almost imperceptible wink.

“Serena,” Bernie said, in a low growl, “I’m trying to behave myself here, and that isn’t helping!” 

It was almost a relief when moments later, the lift stopped at the next floor down and three people stepped aboard. 

 

***

Bernie woke up slowly. The bedroom was bathed in the first rays of morning sunshine and she knew there was no need to rush. There was plenty of time to savour waking, spooned around Serena. She had been very pleased when Serena had told her the night before, that she’d had the foresight to throw a few overnight things in her bag ‘just in case’. Not having to go via Serena’s house meant less need to hurry out of bed. 

The previous evening had been perfect. Shopping together in Sainsbury’s, wandering up and down the aisles, choosing ingredients for their dinner together, as well as for the upcoming meal with Jac and Frieda. Bernie cooking, while Serena watched, sipping a glass of wine. Cuddling up on the sofa for an episode of Midsomer Murders, before going to bed for slow, passionate love making. Bernie had never before experienced this level of domestic bliss, and she couldn’t help herself - she wanted more. Already, she could imagine them living together, growing old together. ‘Woah, hold your horses!’ she told herself. The last thing she wanted to do was rush things and scare Serena off. Serena had only very recently come out of a nearly twenty year relationship, and no matter how bad that relationship had been, it didn’t seem likely she would be in a hurry to jump straight into something serious. Bernie would have to be patient, and allow Serena to dictate the pace.

The room became brighter as the sun rose higher, and Bernie sighed. It was time to properly begin the day. She pressed a gentle kiss to the soft, delicate skin behind Serena’s ear before slipping out of bed. She quickly showered before going back into the bedroom.

“Serena,” she called softly, “time to get up. The bathroom is free, and I’m about to make coffee.” 

“Mmmm, no morning kiss to wake me this time?” asked Serena, her voice husky with sleep.

“I didn’t want to risk making us late two days in a row. You’re way too tempting, so I decided to keep my distance.”

Serena pouted, then sat up to fully enjoy the view, as Bernie dropped her towel and began to dress. Bernie tried her best to ignore Serena, who was naked from the waist up, as she pulled on underwear and trousers. She finally buttoned up her shirt, and tucked it into her waistband. 

“Come on gorgeous, show’s over. Get that beautiful bum of yours moving.”

Bernie picked up her towel, and left the room. The sight of a naked Serena in her bed was a difficult thing to resist, so removing herself from temptation's way seemed the wisest choice. She couldn't wait for them to have a day off together, with no responsibilities, free to spend the day doing whatever they wanted. 

Before her shower, Bernie had put the oven on to heat. They'd bought some croissants the evening before, and she wanted to warm them through. In no time, the small kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of buttery pastry. On an average work day, Bernie rarely even made time for a cup of coffee before she left home, never mind warm croissants with butter and jam. Serena deserved to be spoilt a little, she thought, with a mental shrug. 

Bernie suddenly felt arms snake around her waist, and Serena's lips began to caress her ear and neck. She hummed happily, before turning within the circle of Serena's arms. 

"I could stand here like this for hours, but breakfast is getting cold," muttered Bernie into Serena's hair. 

She pulled back slightly and allowed herself one little kiss, before reluctantly disentangling herself from Serena. Sitting across from each other, drinking coffee and eating buttery, flaky pastries felt a little like a replay from the previous day, in Pulses. This time however Bernie was free to take hold of Serena’s hand, and gaze adoringly at the woman opposite her. 

“Serena,” Bernie ventured tentatively, “You know you said yesterday that you’ve begun to dread going home, thanks to the stalker? And I sort of suggested… offered… well, I meant it, you know. You’re more than welcome to stay here until we stop him. If you want. Or maybe you’re getting sick of the sight of me. I don’t know. You probably want to be back in your own bed. Maybe I could kip on your sofa, so I’m there if he tries anything…” Bernie trailed off, realising she had been babbling. 

She looked up from her plate to see Serena looking at her with soft, sparkling brown eyes, a smile on her face. Serena leant forward, lifted Bernie’s hand, and gently kissed her knuckles.

“You are the sweetest woman in the world, do you know that, Bernie Wolfe? You take such good care of me. I was actually thinking about the situation, myself. The truth is I’m in no great hurry to sleep at the house. Please say if this sounds like too much too soon, Bernie, truly… I was thinking, well it _is_ Friday, so nearly the weekend. I thought maybe I would get enough clothes for a few days, and spend the weekend here. With you. If...if that sounds okay? Also, I would love to take you out tonight. On a date? I know a lovely little Italian restaurant.” 

Bernie stood up, the table between them suddenly too much of a barrier. She held her hand out to Serena, who stood up and stepped into her arms.

“Yes please. Yes to all of it!” laughed Bernie, delighted that Serena’s feelings seemed to be at least somewhat keeping pace with her own. 

They stood, wrapped in each other’s arms sharing soft, delicate kisses. Bernie paused, and rested her forehead against Serena’s.

“I know, I know, it’s getting late and we both need to go to work,” sighed Serena.

“We do. We also have the whole weekend ahead of us, once we get today done with.”

Bernie and Serena worked quickly and efficiently, clearing away the breakfast things and getting themselves together.

“I imagine we will almost certainly be allowing Jasmine home today, if she’s had a good night and Neuro are happy with her.”

“That’s great news. As a responsible and caring boss, I reckon I should be the one to collect her, and drive her home. Don’t you think?”

They smiled at each other, both picturing another coffee date at Pulses. 

Bernie unlocked the front door, and stood back to allow Serena to precede her. Suddenly there was a streak of black, dashing past their feet.

“Bugger. Come back here, you little sod!” Bernie called out, down the corridor. Why was it that Charlie always managed to pick the worst times to want to go for a wander?

Serena looked bemused, having not noticed the cat whizzing past.

“Charlie sometimes likes to explore the hallway, and has a terrible habit of choosing times when I’m in a hurry. Look, why don’t you head to the car? I’ll retrieve the furry menace, and be down in a minute.” 

Looking carefully out into the hallway, Serena was happy to see Charlie was at the opposite end of the corridor to the stairs. She didn't want to risk allowing the cat to escape into the stairwell. Nor did she fancy having her ankles attacked, bearing in mind what Bernie had told her the other night about Charlie’s behaviour. She walked swiftly to the stairs and made her way down to the car park.

 

Bernie trotted down the stairs, brushing ineffectively at the fur coating her pale lilac shirt. Charlie’s habit of shedding profusely over everything Bernie owned, meant the need to keep a lint roller both in her car and desk at work. She’d half considered replacing her entire wardrobe with navy and black garments on more than one occasion. 

Exiting the door from her block, Bernie blinked in the bright morning sunshine. At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. What the hell was Robbie Medcalf doing outside her home? Her stomach clenched, and she felt utterly sick once she realised what was happening. Robbie had hold of Serena, his hand wrapped around her bicep. The other hand held a kitchen knife, its six inch blade glittering in the sunlight. She held her hands up in a placatory gesture.

“Morning Robbie. It looks like you’re upsetting Ms Campbell there.”

“Shut up! And don’t move, or else.”

Bernie slowly reached into her pocket and, after fumbling for a few moments, pulled out her phone.

“Stop that!” he screeched, “No phone calls!”

“No, no calls. I just thought I’d get rid of it, so we can chat undisturbed.”

At that, Bernie tossed the phone, where it landed face down between them. 

“Serena’s mine, you know. She’s meant to be mine. We are destined to be together, don’t you see? As soon as I saw her, I knew. And I could _tell_ , I could just tell that she felt the same way. She threw out the useless bastard of a husband so soon after we first saw each other. It just goes to show, you know? But... Then he just kept coming back, kept showing up with flowers and whatever, trying to worm his way back in. I had to do something, do you understand? I had to get rid of him. Permanently. It was the only way. When I found out, after the post-mortem, when you said that Professor Naylor thought he had some kind of...of venereal disease? God… I just wish… well let’s just say, I wish it hadn’t been such a quick and easy death.”

“What about Jasmine Burrows? How does she fit in?”

“Jasmine? That child? She’s barely out of bloody high school and she keeps questioning _me_? Kept going on and on about the _fucking_ CCTV. I told her it had been no use but she just wouldn’t shut up. I didn’t _want_ to hurt her, just scare her, but I was so angry! And now you, you start hanging around. Spending evenings… Nights… No, no I’m just not having it. Serena is _MINE!”_

 

Bernie was dividing her attention in half. Keeping a very wary eye on the knife clutched in Medcalf’s right hand, whilst trying to subtly, yet forcefully communicate silently with Serena. It was lucky that Medcalf so far hadn’t seemed to need any real response to his ranting. Serena had already slowly moved as far away from him as his grasp on her upper arm allowed. While one part of her listened to him banging on about Serena being his destiny and one true love, Bernie was holding an arm by her side trying to let Serena know what to do next. She tapped the side of her thigh - one, two, three, followed by her thumb gesturing away from Medcalf. Caught Serena’s eye and saw a tiny nod of her head. Without taking her eyes off the blade, Bernie tapped - one, two, three. 

Serena immediately threw herself to the left, wrenching her arm from Robbie’s vice-like grip. Before he could begin to react, Bernie’s foot came up in an elegant arc and the knife flew out of his hand. With a roar, Medcalf flung himself at Bernie, and they hit the ground, in a tangle of limbs. Within moments, a couple of well aimed elbow shots to Medcalf’s face saw the fight go out of him as he slumped, unconscious. 

“Could you pass my phone please, Serena?” she asked, as she rolled Medcalf on his front, grabbed his wrists and kept one knee on his back, just for good measure.

“I think you have your hands full.” Serena limped over to where her bag had been flung, and retrieved her own mobile. She dialled 999 and held the phone to Bernie’s ear while she rallied the troops. 

Within minutes, two cars, sirens screaming and lights flashing, screeched to a halt.  
A uniformed PC helped Bernie up and she quietly explained the situation. She was happy to have Medcalf safely handcuffed, as he had started to show signs of coming round. 

“Better search him thoroughly. He had a knife, which is over there,” she pointed in the direction she had seen the knife drop. “I strongly suspect he has a second blade though.” 

Walking over to where her phone lay, Bernie bent down with a grunt, and picked it up. She tapped and swiped at the screen a couple of times, before a smile of grim satisfaction spread across her face. 

“Your phone isn’t broken, is it?” Serena asked, with concern.

“Hmm? Oh no, it’s fine. I can be a clumsy bugger sometimes, so I have an excellent shockproof, shatterproof case. No, I was just making sure Medcalf’s confession had safely recorded.”

Bernie turned the screen so Serena could see the screen and the recording app she had previously used during questioning. She lead Serena across to the low wall that surrounded the car park and they sat down. They sat side by side as they both made some calls. Serena rang her boss, hospital CEO Abigail Tate, and her colleague Ric, with a brief explanation of what had just happened. Bernie called first Frieda, to ask her to come out and work the scene, followed by Fletch, to let him know the situation. She asked him to let Raf know too.

“Raf will obviously have to take over the whole investigation, Fletch. Yeah, see you soon.”

“Why are you giving the case to someone else, Bernie? You’ve just caught Edward’s murderer.” Serena asked, once Bernie’s had ended the call. 

“Apart from the fact it happened in my own front yard, so to speak, there’s the fact that Robbie is one of ours.”

Serena’s hand flew to to cover her mouth. “Robbie as in ‘the arsehole who was dumped on the team’ you were telling me about? Christ.”

“I know. I feel absolutely sick about it. He was right under my nose the whole fucking time. I failed you, Serena.”

“You haven’t failed anyone, darling. You just saved me from a knife wielding maniac. You’re a bloody heroine, Bernie Wolfe!”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, watching as a police van pulled up, and Robbie Medcalf was bundled into the holding cage in the back. 

“Bernie, why did you say to the uniformed officer that Robbie might have a second knife? What made you think that?”

After hesitating for a moment, Bernie shifted position, and moved her jacket to one side. The lilac material of her shirt was scarlet, soaked through with blood.

“This was my favourite shirt as well,” she joked.

What followed was, they would both acknowledge in years to come, their first argument. Bernie point blank refused to be carted off to hospital while there was still work to be done. She was adamant that it was just a scratch, and that she needed to hand over to Raf and talk through the crime scene with Frieda. They eventually compromised, and she allowed Serena to grab a first aid kit from one of the police cars, and dress the wound. Serena also insisted that Bernie stayed seated on the wall, and anyone who needed to, could come to _her,_ not vice versa.

Eventually, after filling Raf in on what she knew about Medcalf, fending off Fletch’s knowing looks at Serena being at Bernie’s flat, and describing to Frieda what had happened, (No excuses, you’re not getting out of tomorrow’s dinner _that_ easily, Wolfe!’) Bernie finally agreed to go to the ED to get the wound looked at.

“As you’re still refusing an ambulance, I’ll drive you to the Holby City ED myself.”

“I’m not wasting precious NHS resources on an unnecessary ambulance for a scratch,” insisted a stubborn Bernie, in spite of the fact that the knife wound was beginning to throb and burn. “I’m sure I can get one of the lads to drop me at the hospital though. I imagine you’d rather go home to get changed before showing up to work.”

They both looked down at the large rip in the knee of Serena’s trousers, caused when she fell, as she had wrenched herself from Medcalf’s grasp.

“I can do a quick fix with a needle and thread. Surgeon, remember? Alternatively, I can just wear scrubs for the day. There’s no way you’re going to the ED on your own, Bernie. I’m not having Connie bloody Beauchamp thinking she can drape herself all over you again!”

“Possessive, are we?”

Serena blushed. “Well maybe a little. Who’s to say you don’t have a particular thing for brunette surgeons?”

“Serena, I’m a one woman woman, and I only have eyes for you.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last my lovelies, at the final chapter. I have to admit that at times I wasn’t sure I’d actually get us here, and things came a little too close to the wire for comfort, as I only finished this last chapter a couple of weeks ago. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this, and thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos. 
> 
> ❤️

Bernie looked around the room, and had to smile at the sheer difference a few weeks could make. Eight weeks had gone by since Robbie Medcalf had tried to abduct Serena, and revealed himself as Edward’s murderer, Serena’s stalker and Jasmine’s attacker. Bernie still shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if she had taken a couple of minutes longer when capturing Charlie. If she had come downstairs a couple of minutes later, she would have discovered Serena had vanished, with no explanation. A review of the CCTV that covered the car park at Bernie’s home, revealed Medcalf had arrived at the block of flats in a small van. Later examination of that van had uncovered a chilling collection of items stashed in the back. Handcuffs, rope and duct tape. Knives and ankle restraints. There seemed to be no doubt at all that Medcalf had been intending to abduct Serena. When she had found out about the contents of the van, Bernie bitterly regretted not having put the boot in whilst Medcalf was unconscious on the ground. It would have been more than worth whatever consequences it had for her career. 

Eight weeks on from the shocking discovery that Edward Campbell had been murdered by one of her own team, she was standing in Serena’s kitchen, co-hosting a party. It still felt almost unreal that she had only known Serena for a little under three months. Three months to fall utterly in love. Bernie huffed out an amused breath. No, let’s be honest, she fell in lust at first sight, but it had only taken maybe three weeks at most to fall head over heels in love with Serena Campbell. 

Contrary to all of Bernie’s good intentions to take things slowly and allow Serena to dictate the pace, in the end it was drugs that had changed everything. While sitting in a cubicle in the Holby City ED, awaiting sutures to close the knife wound across her ribs inflicted by Medcalf, the hospital CEO herself had come to visit. Abigail Tate had come to thank Bernie for capturing the killer and to check that Serena was okay after her ordeal. It had seemingly been obvious to Abigail that there was more than a merely professional relationship between her AAU clinical lead and the injured DCI. Maybe it had something to do with Serena’s gushing recounting of Bernie’s heroics, and maybe a little to do with the fact that Serena was sitting up on the trolley beside Bernie, holding her hand. Of course, it was also very possible that news of the passionate kisses by the ground floor lifts had reached her ears. Whatever it was, Abigail insisted the ward could manage for the day without Serena, and that she was to take Ms Wolfe home to ensure she took proper care of herself. It was an instruction which Serena took very, very seriously. 

Once Bernie’s wound was sutured by Robyn, the friendly nurse who had taken her to see Jasmine on the day the young detective constable had been admitted to the ED, Serena escorted Bernie out to the car, and they returned to Bernie’s flat. There followed a series of gentle clashes between the two women - Bernie insisting she was fine and Serena insisting Bernie take things easy. Bernie insisting she didn’t need the Tramadol prescribed by the ED doctor, Serena insisting Bernie take them. In losing that particular battle, Bernie found herself floating happily on a blissful cloud of the opioid. There followed a rambling monologue about U-Hauls, being hopelessly in love, and wanting to grow old with Serena, before she fell into a deep, Tramadol induced sleep.  
It wasn’t mentioned again until the Sunday afternoon. Bernie and Serena were happily cuddled together on the sofa watching another episode of Midsomer Murders. (“Don’t you find police dramas frustrating, with all the procedural errors?” “No, I find them thoroughly amusing. You don’t feel the same about medical dramas?” “I can’t stand watching them, I get far too tense. They don’t even use the bloody stethoscopes correctly, for heaven’s sake!”) During an ad break, Serena tentatively brought up the drug induced ramblings from Friday. Bernie blushed, genuinely not remembering a word she’d said, but shyly admitting that yes, she had fallen in love with Serena. She scrambled to assure Serena that she didn’t expect any reciprocal declarations of love, that she understood Serena had just come out of a long term relationship, no matter how poor it had been. Serena quietened the stuttering DCI with kisses and informed her firmly, that she was finding herself falling hard. 

There followed another gentle clash - Serena insisting they couldn’t make love (“remember your stitches!”) Bernie insisting they could (“I managed to cook a meal for four yesterday, including two desserts!”) On this occasion however, Serena didn’t fight _too_ hard, and it was a battle Bernie won fairly easily. 

 

The party was a double celebration. Robbie Medcalf had been sentenced the day before. Life, with a minimum of thirty years before he would be considered for parole. For a man in his mid fifties, it was near enough the equivalent of a whole life sentence. Bernie had never been an advocate of the death penalty, she’d seen too many people die in senseless wars over the years, but for Robbie Medcalf, she thought she might have made an exception. Not for the killing of Edward Campbell. No, it was threatening Serena with a knife, the contents of the van, and the obvious intent behind them that she would never be able to forget or forgive. 

Happily for everyone involved, Medcalf had pleaded guilty to all charges, and had resisted his solicitor’s urging to seek a diminished responsibility defence. He was adamant that he was completely sane and of sound mind, and had refused any form of psychiatric testing. Charges of murder, GBH, wounding with intent, stalking and harassment, and even criminal damage (a knife streaked with traces of rubber found in his locker had lead to an examination of the car park CCTV at Holby Central and the discovery that Bernie’s tyre had been another victim of Medcalf’s blade...) There had been a mass of damning evidence against him. There was a wealth of CCTV footage, including enhanced images of Edward’s murder, clearly showing Medcalf’s face. Raf’s team were able to track the hoodie shrouded figure of Jasmine’s attacker through the city to a point where he became identifiable. Not to mention the camera in Bernie’s car park filming everything that had happened on the day of his arrest. 

The broken bottle left on Serena’s doorstep, which incidentally, had contained drain cleaner, did have a tiny drop of blood on the neck, which matched Medcalf’s DNA. The knife which had been thrust through the teddy bear was part of a set from his kitchen, as was the one used to slash Bernie’s tyre. There was a boning knife missing from the set, which Jac Naylor determined could have caused Edward Campbell’s chest wound. An examination of his financials had shown multiple charges at a local florist, who recognised Medcalf as buying several large bouquets of flowers. The cherry on the icing on the cake was the discovery of Edward Campbell’s watch and wallet in Medcalf’s flat, alongside a pen engraved with Serena’s name, stolen at some point from Serena’s office on AAU. 

A check of hospital records revealed the fifty something man that the two nurses and Jason the porter had remembered as paying too much attention to Serena, had indeed been Medcalf. He’d spent a short while on AAU with a suspected appendicitis which had turned out to be something minor. Incidentally, Jason’s e-fit had proven to be a remarkable likeness, leading Bernie to track him down at the hospital to shake his hand and congratulate him on his excellent memory, and powers of observation. 

 

The second reason for the party, was as a celebration of Bernie moving into Serena’s house. Some people might possibly consider they were moving the relationship along a little too quickly, but neither of them were inclined to wait. Bernie knew Serena was very much The One, and Serena was the happiest she’d ever been, so there seemed no reason to delay things. 

Charlie had _not_ been a fan of the move. She sat in her pet carrier for the journey across Holby, screaming bloody murder, and trying to claw her way out. Of course, the traffic was in chaos on that day, and the twenty minute drive took over an hour. Once released, she dashed upstairs, into the nearest bedroom, and hid under the covers. Bernie had become increasingly worried as the scared cat refused to eat for nearly a whole week. Serena tried to comfort Bernie, pointing out that at least Charlie was drinking. Eventually though, she had gathered enough confidence to begin creeping out of hiding to eat and to explore her new home. Just that morning, she had leaped out from under the kitchen table and attacked Serena’s ankle. Bernie took it as a very positive sign, though Serena was less impressed. 

Bernie’s initial instinct had been to jump in with both feet and immediately put her flat on the market. She rethought that when Serena had suggested the less drastic solution of renting the flat out, at least to begin with. Coincidentally, the new member of Bernie’s team had been looking for a place of her own, being sick of living in a flat share, so her new DC was also her new tenant. Zosia March was working out very well, and had already comfortably settled into the team. Fletch took the jokes about him now being the token male in good part. Jasmine had taken to calling the team Bernie’s Angels, and now always insisted on referring to Fletch as Bosley. 

 

A nudge and a bottle of Thistly Cross being pressed into her hand drew Bernie out of her reverie. 

“Cheers, Fletch. Enjoying the party?”

“I am. The kids are having a great time too. Serena’s a natural with the little’uns,” he said, nodding towards the big comfy sofa. 

Serena was sitting with Fletch’s two youngest, Theo on her lap, and Ella cuddled into her side. She was holding a book in her hand and preparing to read them yet another story. 

“Auntie B does all the voices. Can you do the voices this time, Auntie Serena?” 

Even from across the room, Bernie could see Serena heart melting at being called Auntie by Ella.

“I’ll do my best to live up to Auntie B’s standard.”

“Serena’s such a natural with kids. It's a shame she can't. _You_ haven't thought about…” Fletch trailed off and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Christ Fletch, give me a break! No I haven't thought about it. I'm still unpacking boxes after the move, for fuck's sake, not thinking about babies,” she hissed at him.

Fletch backed off, with raised hands muttering something about ‘only asking’ as he went over to talk to Raf. Bernie was grateful for a distraction as the doorbell rang at that point. Bloody Fletcher, and his ‘only asking’. She walked to the front of the house, and opened the door to admit a small group of Serena’s colleagues from the hospital. That was another thing which had changed over the last few weeks. Serena was finally allowing the people she worked with into her life. Bernie had joined them a few times at Albies, the watering hole of choice among the workers on Holby City’s Wyvern Wing, as Serena slowly got used to being their friend as well as their boss. There had also been a memorable night out with Dom and Fleur, the founder members of the Holby City Homos, which had seen the consumption of an unholy number of cocktails and gave them both a raging hangover the following morning. 

 

They had invited Jason to the party, but as he didn’t do too well in big groups he had declined. However, there were tentative plans for him to come for dinner at some point soon. He had a strict routine of what meals he ate on which day, and Bernie had promised to comply, once he decided when he was coming. Serena had confided to Bernie that Jason was in the process of compiling a list of questions about both the Army and the Police in preparation for the dinner party conversation.

The doorbell rang out again, and before Bernie could move, Fletch waved at her to stay put, and went to answer it. He returned a few moments later with Jac and Frieda, the latter clutching a large, gift wrapped box. Bernie crossed the room to greet them.

“Ladies, welcome. We told you not to even worry about bringing a bottle, never mind a present,” she said, eyeing the rainbow striped box in Frieda’s arms. 

Jac and Frieda just smiled and the parcel was handed over. Bernie cleared a bit of space on the food and drink covered countertop and began to tear the paper from the gaily wrapped present. She stopped as soon as she realised what was under the paper, and sighed. Frieda and Jac burst out laughing at the look on Bernie’s face.

It was a toaster oven. Of _course_ it was!


End file.
